Shadow
by MapleleafCameo
Summary: Invaders from an alternate universe, another dimension, beings called Shadows have humanity fighting for their own survival. John, captured by the Shadows, has more to fight for more than he originally thought. Rated M. Eventual Johnlock. Chapter 7 Unexpected *Review contain spoilers*
1. 1 Days Like This

**A/N: Okay so not sure where this one came from, although I have been reading some dark fics, so it might be that influence. Or it could be that I do like creepy and scary stories and have been wanting to write another since the Soulverse ones.**

**This one is a lot darker than most of my work. Sherlock is not nice throughout most of this, but that being said I also usually like to write happy endings. Usually. Insert maniacal laughter here. **

**My mistakes are my own. I do not own and heartily wish I did. I have a twisted sense of humour. Same old, same old:)**

1. Days Like This

The first thing he noticed when he awoke was intense throbbing pain in his head. His eyelids felt heavy and he couldn't open them. He was also extremely cold.

This was followed by the knowledge that he was lying face down on a freezing, hard surface. Concrete maybe.

He winced as he tried to move his hand up to his face. He felt sore all over; deep bone and muscle ache, the kind you get from a long sickness or from an all out bar fight.

He must have groaned or made some sort of noise because suddenly there was a familiar voice whispering urgently in his ear.

"John? John? Can you hear me? Oh John, please wake up!"

He was trying without a whole lot of success. He felt an urgent need to place the voice. He also wanted to figure out where the hell he was and how the hell he had arrived there.

All of this was taking mere seconds to process in his pain-filled and obviously addled brain. It felt a thousand times slower. He tried desperately to sort through the jigsaw pieces of the memories he did have, but they flowed and shifted and were as impossible to grasp as mercury.

He felt a cool hand on his forehead and there was whiff of something flowery, light and pretty, although underneath was the sour scent of fear and sweat. With it came the memory of the speaker.

"Molly?" He rasped out, not knowing if he was loud enough to be heard; not even recognizing his own voice.

It must have been clear because he next heard,

"Oh thank god!" And gentle hands helped him to turn over.

Once on his back he became more conscious of where he possibly could be. He was looking up at a ceiling. The paint on the ceiling had the mottled, diseased look it gets when it's been applied to concrete for a number of years. It was also rather institutional in colour. The bank of lights he was desperately trying to shut his eyes against were covered with a sort of mesh or wire. He wasn't consciously processing any of this, it was just sort of there. Familiarity.

That brought the next set of identifiable variables. He was cold because he was dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans. No socks or shoes, no jumper or coat and he was lying on damp, cold concrete. He tried to lift his hand to his face once more or to wrap his arms around himself but he hurt too goddam much.

He groaned again.

Molly, in a frantic whisper, said "Shh, John, it's okay. It's going to be okay."

Another voice, male and one he didn't recognize right away, spoke near by. There was a slight hysterical edge to it and for some reason John felt an intense dislike for the voice.

"Stop lying to him. It's not going to be alright! It's not. It's not suppose to be like this!"

Molly, without turning to look at the spokesman, said with a hint of derision, "Nigel, if they wanted us dead, they would have killed us already."

"You don't know that! You're only guessing! They're probably just saving us for later."

Molly must have decided to ignore the other man because she merely narrowed her lips, her dislike evident and returned to the task of bringing John around.

"Can you sit up?" She asked him

He continued to blink at her stupidly.

"Wha...what happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

He was finally able to bring his hand up and ran it across his eyes. "Ummmm...don't know."

His brain felt like it was trapped in something viscous, the rate he was processing information.

"Do you remember the Shadows breaching the defenses? Entering the encampment?"

John thought back. There were vague images, flashes of light, distant screams. He remembered standing in front of someone, trying to prevent them from being taken. He then shuddered with muscle memory as he had been hit with a pulse of sound and pain.

"Yeah, maybe."

Molly's face, whilst still worried and scared looking, began to show shades of relief as he began displaying some signs his memory was returning.

"Do you think you can sit up? I have water for you."

He nodded.

Molly wrapped one arm around his shoulders and using her free hand to grab his, helped him to sit. In an upright position he could see that there were at least 5 or 6 others in the room with them. People he recognized from the encampment.

Once he was leaning against the wall, she reached around & brought back a bottle of water. She cracked the seal and held it up to his mouth, his hands were too shaky to hold it himself. After effects of the pulse used by the Shadows.

The water was lukewarm, but John didn't care and drank down a third before Molly took it away.

She smiled at him regretfully.

"We don't know how long we'll be here. Have to save some."

"How long?"

Molly knew what he was asking.

"Not entirely sure. We've been here for a while now. You were unconscious a long time. I think they did more than pulse you."

John nodded wearily, as he attempted to clear his muzzy thoughts. He had been pulsed before and hadn't felt this slow and stupid. The after effects had cleared quicker. Perhaps he had been hit by more than one wave.

He continued to gaze around, trying to identify where they were when he noticed that in place of a fourth wall there were bars.

He recognized the place. Former police station.

Now used for holding those deemed by the Shadows to be terrorists.

No longer needed for drunks, thieves or murderers. That had been all taken care of when the Shadows arrived & took over...everything.

They sat on the floor for what seemed like hours more, but probably was closer to 20 minutes when they heard the sound they had all been straining for.

The sound of footsteps and something that caused their hearts to race, for with the sound came the chill, clammy feeling that death was present, hovering close by.

The slide and whisper of Shadows approaching.

Molly scrambled to her feet and with a touch from John to indicate he too wanted to face them standing, she helped him up and steadied him.

Figures appeared on the other side of the bars.

There were 6 of them.

Four humans. Collaborators most likely. Attendants wouldn't be out and about. It wasn't like they had any real freedoms.

Two were Shadows.

Shadows, because their features were indistinct. There was nothing to indicate what they looked like. Just a dark presence, shadowed and black. They appeared insubstantial when looking at them.

They were definitely solid when they captured you.

When they killed you.

He remembered the night of the first invasion, when he had been attacked at the hospital but had somehow managed to escape. Remembered the feeling of cool hands on his head, an impression of dark and whiteness, deadly, beautiful eyes searching his own and imminent death standing in front of him. There was more but he was forced out of the memory and back to the present when the shrouded stare of the two Shadows landed on him. He shuddered because they were both trained on him and were not moving. He felt pinned and trapped by their unseen gaze. You didn't need to see their eyes when they looked at you. You felt their weight and judgement as your fate was decided.

He felt like prey.

Not knowing how he knew this, but the two standing on the other side of the bars were females.

They bent and blended together, their indistinct edges merging as they spoke in the silvery, sibilant tongue of their home.

The first then turned back to John and addressed him in English.

"Dr. John Watson," she spoke in a voice, full of mystery and promise. John fought against surrendering to the reflex Shadow voices created. Their voices spoke promises of safety and love, of want and desire, but that was just another effective weapon in their arsenal. They were deadly killing machines. When they chose to be.

"Well this is your lucky day, Dr. Watson. And ours." He shuddered again, this time with atavistic fear. There was not going to be any escape for him. He was on their list of most wanted in the human resistance.

The Shadow who had been speaking turned to the other. "Go and tell him who we have down here. Although it wouldn't surprise me if he already knew," he felt her scowl, her true nature showing through momentarily, before she turned back to address him once again. "He'll want to take a personal hand in speaking to you, Dr. Watson. You have been causing far too much trouble."

She then turned to the humans. "Send the rest for testing to see if any are worthy to be Attendants. The ones that aren't, take the women for breeding and you can send the males to the bank. I am sure some of them will be delicious." She indicated to one of the Collaborators to open the door to the cell.

There was a commotion as Nigel rushed forward, close to the bars and began yelling,

"I was promised! I was promised! I gave you the location with the promise you would free me!" He was practically sobbing.

_So that's how they knew_, John thought, not really surprised. He had always known Nigel Anderson was spineless and cruel, just not aware of how far he'd go to save his own skin.

Promises, it seemed, were made to be broken on both sides.

What looked like an arm shot out from the first speaker's side and wrapped around Nigel's throat. There was a crunch and Nigel's lifeless form was tossed aside like a ragdoll, broken and discarded, his now lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling.

Moving toward John, she ignored the shape on the floor. There were muffled sobs coming from some of the others in the cell, whether for themselves or for the sudden revelation of Nigel's betrayal and execution, John wasn't sure. Nor did he really care at this point. He knew there was no escape for any of them.

A hand clutched at his. Molly reaching for comfort where there was none. She did it not because she was scared, although it was likely she was, but in acknowledgement. She wouldn't go without a fight. John clutched her hand back and locked eyes with her, he mutely shook his head. She grinned a brave grin and stood in front of John who was still too weak to do much of anything.

He did however grab her arm and pulled her back to stand with him. They held hands to give each other strength.

They felt the female Shadow's grin widened further as she took in the two of them.

"Oh my pretty brave one. Perhaps you will get to be chosen as Attendant. I like mine to have some fight in them. Perhaps I'd chose you," she almost purred the words at Molly. It was hard to ignore when they put the full force of sexual desire into their tones. They were death personified, but it was said to be a very sweet death.

If you were lucky.

The Shadow glided closer. Molly stood firm. The female seemed to sniff the air near Molly.

"Oh yes, you do have an intoxicating scent. I think you will do nicely," Before John could react she pounced at Molly. There wasn't anything anyone could do, it happened so fast. The Shadow wrapped what looked like her hands upon either side of Molly's head and lowered her head to her face. As she touched Molly, both females shuddered and Molly twitched slightly. The Shadow didn't stay to feed long. Just enough to taste. She drew back with an excited hiss.

Molly, dazed and pliant from the kiss, stood blinking and unable to move. The Shadow removed her hand from the side of Molly's head and stroked her hair. She leaned close to Molly to whisper in her ear, but it was loud enough for John to hear.

"Oh yes you will do very nicely." She turned to the humans waiting on the other side.

"She's mine."

A tall human with silvering hair opened his mouth as if to protest. The Shadow hissed at him. "Do not interfere Lestrade. Not if you know what's good for you."

The human looked stubborn for a moment and then nodded. He took Molly, still dazed and compliant and gently began to lead her away.

John called out Molly's name.

The human holding Molly flicked his gaze in John's direction. Was that sympathy or something else in the eyes that were searching his own? John didn't know, because at that moment the Shadow turned back to him and looked intently in his direction, more intently than the previous first stare. A high-pitched whine filled the cell and John felt the encroaching edge of blackness. The lights overhead flickered and the dark spots in front of his eyes multiplied until they gathered together to pull him down.

He slipped back under once more.

Sometimes oblivion could be a blessing.

This one dragged him under with feelings of terror.

Not for losing consciousness.

But for what he would wake to on the other side.

**A/N: Next chapter will have a bit of background information before we get to all of the fun:D**


	2. 2 The Floor Looks Good From Here

**A/N: Yeah – lots of non-con kissing. Sorry tda!**

2. The Floor Looks Good From Here

Slipping back under, to what should have been the blessings of unconsciousness, did not exactly bring any relief to John.

For when he went under he remembered.

Three years ago.

John had returned from his last tour in Afghanistan broken and injured. Shot in the shoulder, no good to the army, no good to the field of surgery.

But he was luckier than most. Running into an old friend one day in the park, a job offer had been given and accepted. For three years John worked A & E at one of the busy London hospitals. It gave him enough of the adrenalin sorely lacking in a normal day-to-day life, missed from the action of a desert war; he stopped limping most of the time and except when overtired the tremor in his dominant hand stilled.

All that changed the night of the Aurora Borealis, The Northern Lights, known in the Southern Hemisphere as Aurora Australis.

Unexpected and terrible in their beauty, most had gone outside to watch. News reports were covering the phenomena. Seen all over the word and at latitudes not ever viewed. Bright and enthralling. Visible during the day or through city lights, almost substantial and seemingly close to the ground. They moved and rippled, a sensual dance across the sky, colours wonderful and rich, a quiver of the unknown trembled up peoples spines whilst watching those lights.

24 hours after the beginning of the rare occurrence the screams started.

Everyone forgot the simple science, the primary school knowledge that light casts shadows and beauty can hide darkness.

John had just finished his shift, and started to get ready to go home. He remembered it had been busy, the kind of work where you get into the business of patching up people, not even thinking but moving automatically on to next person, in a seemingly never ending stream of patients. They had been getting a lot of accidents. People trying to drive and watch the lights at the same time or walking out into the road for a better look and getting hit by distracted drivers, there was a man who fell off his roof as he attempted to get a better look.

They were also getting some of the crazies that came out during times such as these.

As he was heading out, there was a large crash, the rainstorm sound of shattered and falling glass. It came from the front of the hospital and people were yelling and running, panicked reverberations.

John ran toward the screams. He slid to a stop in the front lobby to see dark indistinct shapes, fluid at the edges, entering through the broken front windows. Fast and moving without effort, they began grabbing people standing around in that stunned way that some do when there is a crisis. Although use to reacting under pressure, even John stood speechless for a moment when a woman near him was pulled close to one and vague arm like shapes were wrapped around her head. It was hard to see her face, her body moved and heaved under the attentions of the dark figure and familiar and rather sensual moans came from her. As abruptly as she had been grabbed, she was tossed aside, obviously dead from the unnatural way she landed on the floor.

John stood, confusion and fear tried to beat down the growing anger and reactions from his time in the army, both instincts warring in an attack that swirled through his frame.

He looked around, grabbed a chair and threw it at the shape. It hit the creature with enough force to stagger a human, but the creature shrugged it off and turned to stare at John. It diverted its whole attention to him. He could feel the creature watching him and he swore he could feel it smirk.

Before he could react, he was wrapped up in the shadowy figure, cool fingers gripped his head, intense feelings of pleasure and pain coursed through him, he squeezed his eyes shut and gasped. He was filled with such powerful longing and desire it drove out all thoughts of self-preservation, but shattering pain was also present in equal measure. It was enough of a jolt for him to open his eyes as he felt hard lips bruise his own and a tongue roughly pushed its way into his mouth, no gentle caress, this. He began to feel weak, his energy sapped, as if his life force was draining out of him, but he didn't care in the least. He couldn't make out any features of the creature in front of him, except for incredibly beautiful eyes, a bright silver glow. He was beginning to become weak beyond the point of no return when the shadow was wretched from him and he fell to the ground, hitting his head. Things were hazy and grey after that but it seemed as if two shadows were fighting above him as he lay on the floor. He slipped into unconsciousness.

oOo

Present Day

The second time John regained consciousness after being captured by the Shadows was distinctly different from the first. Instead of a damp, concrete floor, he awoke on a soft and comfortable surface. The sloping back and patterned print at his side told him he was on a couch. He was warm, a throw covering his body. He still hurt, his feet were still bare but instead of fellow prisoners, there was only one other human in the room, sitting in a chair watching him, evaluating him with intelligent, dark, glittering eyes. A Collaborator, but judging by his dress an important one.

So he was still a prisoner, just a slightly more comfortable one.

The man sitting in the chair had one hand raised, finger across his lip not in a gesture of quiet, but study. He was wearing an expensive three-piece bespoke suit. His reddish coloured hair brushed back. There was a cold, calculation in the way John was being evaluated. He had an aristocratic bearing. John had heard that some of the upper crust had gone to the dark side, so to speak.

The man brought his hand down and smiled a thin smile at him.

"Well Dr. Watson. How pleasant of you to join me. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever awaken. But I suppose getting pulsed as many times as you have in so short a period could make it difficult for you to stay with us."

There was something about the way he spoke that twinged an alarm at the back of John's mind. It was as if he had learned English as a second language. It was flawless, but the cadences were just slightly off. John could feel the hairs on the back of his neck twitch as though urging a primal reflex into action.

John rubbed his hand across his eyes and slowly sat up, shaking his aching head carefully to remove the last of the dark dream he had been wrapped in. Of course the dark dream was nothing to the horrific nightmare he awoke to.

He figured he was here to be led into a false sense of comfort before they tortured him for information and ultimately killed him. Well nice try. Been there, done that.

The man stood and walked over to a table, which held crystal carafe of water and matching glasses. He poured some into one and walked over to where John was sitting. He held it out to the doctor. John eyed it for a moment but he was simply too thirsty to care if there was anything else in it. If they wanted something from him, they'd get it. The Shadows had ways of extracting information. John didn't know how. He had only heard stories.

He took the glass and drank down the water. He held out the glass to the man, who quirked an eyebrow at him and took it back. He walked back and filled the glass again and returned it to John. The doctor took his time with the second offering.

The man stood by the table, reached into his jacket and pulled out a brown leather notebook. He cleared his throat, glanced at it and then back to John.

"Dr. John Hamish Watson, formerly a Captain in the army, one of the leaders of the human rebellion in England. You are in a fair bit of trouble. I do believe you would be summarily executed for your various crimes if you weren't so fascinating." He paused as he returned the notebook to his inner pocket and then poured himself a glass and began to take small sips from it. "And I would have you killed you know, if you weren't wanted by so many of my people." He turned to sit down and as he did so it was with an uncommon grace. John was suddenly caught by the way he moved and the phrase he had just uttered and something that had been nagging him fell into place.

"Your people?"

The man in front of him laughed, cold, high and silvery. And John knew, knew from the sound of the laugh.

"Yes my people." He looked at the shocked surprise on John's face. "Oh, did you think I was human? One of you? Hardly." The last was spat as though John had said something disgusting or the man, the creature in front of him had eaten something foul.

"But you look human?"

John was confused and he realized he had only ever seen the Shadows as exactly that, shadows. His thoughts whirled with new information that threatened to override his already tired and taxed brain.

The creature smirked at him. "That is part of our camouflage. We wear it when we hunt you down, but not at other times. It serves its purpose to scare and terrify your stupid little brains."

He steepled his hands together and continued to smirk at John. "You can't see us as we truly are unless we want you to. You must already know, Dr. Watson. We come from a parallel universe, a different dimension. We have developed under similar conditions, with a few minor adaptations." The cold smile twitched at the thin mouth.

John's head, still reeling from all the other events that had happened, was having a hard time processing new information.

"Now, I expect you are curious as to why you are still alive?"

John glanced sharply at the creature sitting there mocking him.

"Not in the slightest."

"No? Intriguing. Well. Perhaps I'll tell you anyway."

But at that moment the door to the room they were in was flung open with a bang and in swept another one. Now that he knew what to look for it was obvious. Tall and thin, an impression of dark hair and pale skin, he too moved with unearthly grace, although different from the creature in the suit. That one's graceful movements were controlled and calm, steady, this one had the elegance of a wild creature, all electric impulses and animalistic inclinations.

He strode up to John and without preamble, lifted him roughly off the couch and onto his feet. The glass he had been holding slipped from his fingers. He felt the remaining water splash his feet.

The other one, the one in the suit called out a warning to the new being, which went unheeded.

"Hey, what the…" John didn't get to finish that thought as he was clasped around the head, fingers splayed across his temples, eyes locked with his, boring into his very soul. John felt a buzzing sensation in his skull as if he'd had too much alcohol, his heart began to race and his breathing became erratic. The creature before him had bright green eyes, eyes that began to glow with an unearthly sliver light until the entire colour of the iris was consumed. He lowered his mouth to John's and placed his lips upon his. His breathing stuttered and he felt powerful, uncontrolled desire sweep through him. He had never, ever in the slightest been interested in men before. That went right out the window with that first kiss, if you could call it a kiss. John's knees started to collapse, but the grip on his head held him in place. Without thought, trying to anchor himself, he wrapped his arms around the figure in front of him and hung on as though he were drowning. For all of the roughness in the way he had been hauled to his feet, the kiss was soft and almost affectionate. A slow, questioning tongue began to lick at his lips. John opened his mouth with a moan and the tongue entered, softly and gently stroking the inside of his mouth. He did not feel anything but desire and a siren call of safety and security. He would be cared for and cherished if he submitted but it was a false song. A voice at the back of his mind was ignored, one which panicked at the forced kiss and his weakening state, the one yelling at him that this was more than unacceptable. He could feel life being drained from him, but he didn't care.

Abruptly he was let go and he dropped to the floor, his head reeling and his senses on overload. He lay at the feet of the other creature, desire leaving him almost as rapidly as it had swept through him. He felt nauseated and completely exhausted.

He was only barely aware there was a power struggle happening in the room. He was wrapped up in alien thoughts and feelings, which were mingled with his own of anger, fear and disgust. Impressions of a distant home, beautiful and stark terribly missed and longed for, an ancient sorrow and underpinnings of fear and loss. Devastation of a natural disaster and horror at what they had become.

A phrase flitted through his thoughts.

_Adapt or die._

He came out of the tidal wave of emotions that left him ravaged and hurt, lying on the floor of the stately room. He was getting rather tired at how comfortable and familiar a horizontal position was becoming. He came to in time to see the argument reach it's climax when the first creature, the calm one, backhanded the one who had grabbed him and hissed at the other in their native tongue.

The other wiped a hand across his cut lip, a small amount of blood, a richer, more brilliant red than his own, trickled down the creature's chin and he sneered something at the other.

Surprise flashed across the first face and he switched back to English. "You're sure?"

The other nodded. "Positive. It's him." He didn't even glance down at John, who was now struggling to sit up. He felt incredibly weak.

"There were other ways of finding out." A hint of reproach. John, fatigue and stress catching up with him tried not to giggle. The two creatures sounded oddly like brothers bickering. He must be going into shock.

"Yes. I am sure your ways would have been just as effective. But mine was more entertaining. Besides I haven't had any in ages. He was very appealing."

"Sherlock, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"We've been over this Mycroft. Yes. It's the only way." He nudged John with the toe of his expensive, posh shoe. "Get him cleaned up, dressed properly and send him to my quarters." Another irreverent thought, about the creatures and fashion sense squelched across his tired brain and he snickered. Pain bloomed through his knee and he yelped in surprise as the foot nudging him kicked out. The contact to his knee shocked John into a sober state of mind.

"And if this doesn't work?"

The Sherlock creature shrugged and spoke coolly to the other.

"Well then, we'll all be dead, won't we?"

And having the last word, he turned and swept back out of the room.

The Mycroft creature sighed and then bent down and held his hand out to John. John eyed it warily.

"Oh don't be ridiculous. I am not about to feed on someone my brother has claimed as his own. I am just offering you a hand, Dr. Watson."

John internally shrugged and took the proffered hand. He was feeling much calmer than he felt he had the right to be, although he was very wobbly when set upon his feet. He tried hard not to lean towards Mycroft. "Your brother?" Pain and fatigue were over come by his unrelenting curiosity. He had been right, they way the two had acted together.

"Yes we are from the same family group. It doesn't quite have the same connotations as it does in your world, but still. I do have some feelings of responsibility for him. I was the elder."

John wasn't sure why Mycroft was answering his questions, but he was too tired to give it a whole lot of thought.

The other walked over to the desk John had neglected to notice and pressed a button on it and he began to speak.

"Anthea, my dear, would you be so kind a to come in here." The gentle tone and polite words did nothing to relieve John's growing anxiety. He was tired of feeling weak and stupid, tired of not knowing what was going on. He really didn't care if he was a prisoner or not.

A pretty brunette walked into the room and walked up to Mycroft. He reached over and stroked her cheek. She shuddered delicately.

_Human_, John thought.

"Anthea, pet, would you see to it that Dr. Watson is tidied up and dressed appropriately. You will then need to escort him to my brother's quarters." John was surprised at the amount of affection that was present in the body language of the creature, as if he genuinely cared for his human 'pet'.

"Of course sir." She turned and left.

Mycroft turned and smirked at John.

"Well Dr. Watson. It's your lucky day. You have been given a temporary reprieve. But don't for one second think that death wouldn't have been preferable. My brother will not be easy to live with. You may have wished I had killed you."

And with that he turned and left John alone in the room with nothing but the growing knot of horror in his stomach at the promise held in that remark.


	3. 3 Have We Met Before?

**A/N: You would think I would have learned by now not to make promises in regards to the writing:P Sorry for the delay. I had to write this chapter for transition. I despair at writing transition chapters. They sit there and look at me with sly smiles as if to say "But you need us. Your story can't move forward with out us." Maybe listening to chapters as if they were alive is a bad thing.:P Not a lot of background information here as, yes I know, I promised, but if you look, I have given you some things to think about:D**

**Nothing terribly smutty- yet. I promise we will get there;)**

**As usual, I do not own, it is unlikely I ever will, but while I am here I will do what I want. Mwahahaha.**

3. Have We Met Before?

John stood and watched the creature walk away. He tried to summon up enough energy to move but grey was encroaching the edge of his vision and he sat down on the couch, slouching back, eyes closed. Time jumped, one moment he was alone and the next a pretty face was leaning into his space and looking at him. The human.

_Anthea_, he thought.

_What the hell sort of a name is that?_

He giggled again, but it slipped into a groan. The woman's brows drew together as she frowned in concern. She patted his arm and helped him to sit up.

"You'll get use to it. Here, drink this. It will help."

She held out an energy drink. He didn't realize there were manufactured goods still being produced but he supposed the bottle could have been in storage somewhere.

He really was in bad shape. He had no thoughts of self-preservation and any others he had were flitting in and out randomly.

Turning the lid proved impossible. He didn't have the strength to open the bottle, but was not even remotely embarrassed that Anthea had to do it for him.

She held it out to him again and he took it with a shaky hand. He tipped the cold liquid down his throat and grimaced at the taste. He could feel the trail it made down his throat and to his stomach.

After he had finished about half of the bottle he began to feel better, well enough that he didn't feel like curling up on the floor and dying.

The young woman didn't seem to be in any hurry and gave him the time to regain his equilibrium.

After he felt more human, Anthea helped him to his feet. He looked at her, questions filling his mind, his natural curiosity taking over.

"What happens now?"

He was afraid to ask anything deeper and more enlightening than that. He was afraid, from what he remembered of the conversation that had swirled above him whilst lying on the floor, to find out what was planned for him.

"I'm to take you to get some fresh clothing, show you where you will be staying. You will shower and change and I will send someone up to bring you a hot meal. It is important that you maintain your energy levels. It is important that you rest and replenish. You will never know when your Benefactor will have need of you. It is your responsibility to be ready at all times."

He blinked at the seemingly sympathetic sounding name, Benefactor. Sounded all virtuous and supportive. As if the Shadows were here to help, not harm. John threw her a hard look. "Oh it is, is it?"

She let the corner of her mouth twitched, but the look she gave him was cool, not friendly.

"You will learn. It can be easy or it can be hard. The choice is yours. I would suggest you go for easy. Especially when dealing with Mr. Homes."

John closed his mouth. Anthea led the way out of the room and into a hallway. A few turns and they came to a large entrance containing a massive set of stairs. She set a steady, but sedate pace up them, as if taking into account his ability to go any faster.

Upon reaching the top she took him down the right hand corridor and to a closed door. John attempted to look around, note weaknesses, escape routes, but the last few hours had made his head hurt terribly and it was difficult to think. As they walked past Anthea simply said, "Mr. Holmes' suit." She continued further down and stopped at the next door.

"Your room." And she opened the door and stepped over the threshold. John followed behind.

He entered a plain but orderly room. A large bed with a small side table occupied most of the space. There was a small area near the window with a comfortable looking chair, a small table and a floor lamp. A small chest of drawers completed the furniture. There was a door on one wall, which John presumed was a closet, and another door standing open, which turned out to be the bathroom.

As he stepped in, Anthea crossed over to the window and drew open the curtains. He noticed there were bars on the windows.

_Great, _not that he had the energy to try leaving at the moment but after he'd recovered, bars were not going to make it easier.

"Bathroom is in there. You will find everything you need. There are some clothes in there," she pointed to the dresser. "You are to be showered and to dress. Your meal will be waiting for you. Mr. Holmes may or may not require your attendance this evening but I suggest you take the opportunity to have a rest, before hand. He may, I imagine, wish to speak to you about your duties, or not. Depends on his mood. He may just expect you to know them." She arched an elegant eyebrow at him and then turned to leave.

John reached out and touched her arm, stilling her forward motion.

"Why? Why do you do this? Why do you cooperate with them?"

Anthea looked at his hand on her arm, but he didn't remove it. She looked back up at him. There was a hint of compassion in her eyes. She smiled at him. It was the nicest smile he had had since being separated from Molly.

"You have no idea what it's like. You've only had a glimpse, a taste, if you will." She smirked a little. "You'll find out." And with that she turned to go, but stopped suddenly and turned back, "Perhaps you should know that there is more going on than you think, that maybe some of us didn't have a choice." She opened her mouth as if to say more, but instead, looking as if she had divulged too much, left, closing the door behind her. He heard the lock click. Unwilling to trust his ears, hoping he was wrong, knowing he wasn't, John reached out a hand and turned the knob.

The door remained closed.

Feeling overwhelmed by the day's events, he stood and stared at the door. He could sense a churn of emotions under the surface of his skin, but he clamped down on them before they could dominate his need to survive and stay upright. He had been through worse than this. Not much worse, mind.

He turned and made his way over to the other closed door. It was locked as well, so not a closet. He stared at it, remembering Anthea pointing out Holmes' rooms just before his own as they walked past.

_Ah. Connecting door. Not good. _Images of Holmes bargaining into his room, the way he had downstairs, grabbing his head and…

_No._

He leaned his aching head against the door, trying to recover from the pictures that swept through him. John was not ready to bring those images and feelings out into the light, nor was he anxious to examine what had happened as Holmes's tongue had probed his mouth.

Now he was thinking about probing. He let out a weak giggle that definitely had a hysterical edge. He rubbed his face with his hands, hoping to ground himself once more.

Shoulders came back, chin went up, hands clenched, he shook himself and made his way to the bathroom. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a proper shower. Those types of facilities were lacking at the encampment. A quick, sketchy sponge bath was the best most had had to keep clean.

The bathroom was modest in size. There were plenty of towels. A new toothbrush and electric razor were on the counter. Shampoo and soap in the shower.

He stripped down and left his clothes lying on the floor. He turned on the water, making it as hot as he could stand and he stepped in. He stood there for an immeasurable length of time and let the water pour over his tired and aching body, as he tried not to think. There were flickers of protest from his brain. He was accepting his fate too easily. He was giving in. He was letting _them_ walk all over him. But realistically he was not in great shape and he knew he wouldn't be good to anyone or anything until he gained some strength.

He was also trying hard, with little success, not to think about Molly and the others and wondering where they might be and what had happened to them.

He reached for the shampoo bottle, poured out a handful and scrubbed it through his hair, the soap and the water washing away more than just dirt and grime. It helped give him the sense that he could wash away the touch of the creature on his skin. He knew it really couldn't and he knew when he brought out those feelings later, he would still feel used and dirty, but for now, for a moment, he could deceive himself and allow the cleansing sensation of the water run down his back, over his skin.

The water reluctantly turned off, fatigue rapidly overcame him. He really didn't want to sleep in the shower. He reached for a towel and quickly dried himself off.

Leaving the towel and his clothes on the floor, not caring in the least about them, he returned to the main room he opened the first drawer in the dresser to discover an assortment of boxers and t-shirts. Implications concerning the fact that the clothes were roughly his size were shoved to the back of his mind. He quickly pulled them on and looked around the room. On the table by the window was a tray with what looked like soup, cheese, bread and fruit. A large glass of water accompanied it. He made quick work of the meal, hungrier than he thought. As he finished the last of the soup, leaving the fruit, waves of sleep passed over him and he struggled to keep his eyes open.

He was nervous about letting his guard down, afraid of what may happen whilst asleep, but there was nothing for it. He was simply exhausted.

He made his way over to the bed, pulled back the covers and collapsed. He was asleep almost immediately.

He awoke abruptly out of a dead sleep. He knew he had been asleep for hours. The light was gone and the room was darker than it had been. Although being in the heart of London, it would never be totally dark. Light poured in from the street.

Something had pulled him out of a deep, dreamless sleep. Some sensation of being watched. He sat up and saw a shape sitting in the chair by the window.

John's heart began racing. Fear filled him and drove out the last cobwebs of confusion. Alert and sharp, senses heightened, adrenalin pumped into his body, he reached over and turned on the bedside lamp.

Blinking against the sudden increase in light, his eyes focused on the creature, Sherlock Holmes, sitting in the chair. He had obviously been sitting for a while.

_No, not creepy at all._

"You are not usually a heavy sleeper." Holmes' voice, bored and jaded, was much deeper than his brother's, deeper than most of the Shadows he had heard speak. It sent a shudder through him.

"No." Might as well be honest. He had nothing to gain by lying. The creature evidently knew things about him already. He wondered, briefly, about that.

Holmes stood and turned toward the now open connecting door.

"Come with me." There was no option, no room for argument. John threw back the covers and followed behind the Shadow.

The creature had already crossed the floor of his room and sat down in a chair next to a fire. John had a fleeting impression of clutter and organized chaos. He came and stood by the Shadow's chair.

Holmes indicated for him to sit, but John remained standing.

The face of the creature darkened and he said in a steely tone, "Sit."

John sat, eyes never leaving the face of the Shadow in the chair opposite. He was grateful for the fire blazing in the fireplace. The air was cooler now that night had descended and he hadn't stopped to put on any more clothes.

His nerves churned in his stomach. He was beginning to regret having eaten so much.

The creature stared at him, hands lax in his lap, eyes half lidded. John could feel his cool gaze sweep over him. John had the feeling that nothing was hidden everything was exposed. Holmes made him feel naked and vulnerable.

"I will only explain this once so you had better listen. You are mine for now. You will do as you are told. No more refusing even the simplest request. I will require you to maintain your energy level. I will be demanding of your time, when I have the need of you. There may be days when I will not speak to you and you will not see me. You will remain in your room unless directed otherwise. If I require you, you will come to me immediately. You will be expected to be available to me whenever I wish or need. " He paused and looked intently at John's face. "At any point I can release you from my service. I would rather not. I have been looking for one such as you for a while now." He paused again, longer in duration. "Any infractions of the rules and you will be punished. Any attempts to escape and you will be punished. Try hard enough to, what is your phrase? To 'piss me off' and I will release you back into my brother's care. You do not want me to do that. If I return you to him your life is forfeit. You, Doctor Watson, have spent too much time attempting to kill my people. I do not require you to agree or acknowledge. You either will or you will not."

John simply stared at the Shadow. Then the stubborn streak his mother despaired of him ever outgrowing raised its head and sniffed the air.

"That's it then? I am supposed to just do what you want, when you want because you want me too?"

John didn't even see Holmes move. He was shoved back in the chair, chin gripped with bruising force by the Shadow's hand. The Shadow's eyes began to glow and he lowered his face closer to John's.

"I can make this pleasant for you, Doctor or I can make you wish you were never born." The creature's voice hissed. "Make a choice."

John glared back at the Shadow. "I made my choice long ago when you invaded my world."

Holmes lowered his mouth back on John's but there was no bliss, there was no intensity of lust or longing. Instead a steady stream of some of John's worse experiences flooded his mind, mostly from his first war but others from the war being fought now. Explosions, gunfire, bodies and body parts, people he couldn't save. Intense feelings of hopelessness surged upwards.

As abruptly as they began they stopped, leaving John wrung out and drained, unnoticed tears tracked down his face. He sat, shaken, in his chair. The creature backed off and stood staring down at the wrecked man in the chair.

"That, my dear Doctor Watson, was only a sample of what I can do to your mind. I need you intact and for you to cooperate with me." He smirked and lowered his hand back to the bruised face, this time the touch was gentle and intimate, as he caressed the already forming marks on John's jaw. He leaned in and whispered in his ear. "I will have what I want, do what I want, when I want it, simply because _I_ want it. Better to learn that now, don't you think?"

The creature span around and sat back in his chair.

"Leave," he said, his manner once more bored and dismissive.

John stumbled out of the room and back to his own. He collapsed on his bed, still shaken and distraught over the sensations coursing through his body. He lay there, attempting to still his racing heart and to get a grip on his emotions.

Finally, finally sleep began to creep over him. As he hovered on the edge, trying not to think about Holmes grip on his skin, about his dark promises, something stirred in his memory and he was flung back, once more, to his first encounter with a Shadow, at the hospital. He remembered it grabbing him and draining his life, only to be interrupted. He shivered, questioning the possibility of Holmes being the same monster. There was something in his cruelty, which made John think he was.


	4. 4 Things Aren't What They Seem

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend johnsarmylady (go read her stories!) who caught a continuity error for me. Thank you very much! If you didn't catch it or you read the chapter after I fixed it too bad:D**

**I am just going to stop apologizing for slow updates. Once summer comes around I should be more regular about updating. I know! I am sorry! Oops! I apologized! How very Canadian;)**

**Don't own, that belongs to the Great and Powerful Overlord Mofftiss, BBC & ACD! Thanks a lot guys:)**

4. Things Aren't What They Seem

John woke the next morning after a night of relentless mental torture and endless nightmares. It was near dawn when he finally crossed the threshold into a slumber too deep for dreams to follow. Morning appeared and he did not feel rested.

He rubbed his face & ran his hands through his hair trying to dispel the images left behind.

He wondered, briefly, if it was worth staying in bed & pretending the day wasn't going to start but he decided he was not the kind of person to just give up, so he threw back the covers & went into the bathroom where he washed his face and shaved.

When he came back into the main room, he discovered once again someone had delivered a breakfast of porridge, toast, fruit and tea. He was a bit unnerved because he had not heard anyone enter or leave whilst he was cleaning up in the bathroom. He stared nervously around for a moment and then chided himself for conjuring imaginary fears when he had plenty of real ones. He sat down and ate. Since deciding life was going to go on, he wasn't going to waste this most excellent breakfast. Having been in the army, he was deadly practical about being provided regular meals. One did not turn up their nose at a meal when it was provided.

Afterwards he rummaged though the drawers and pulled out clean boxers, a vest, a shirt, jeans and socks. He found a jumper in another drawer and decided to put that on as well, as it was a brisk morning. He dressed quickly. He looked around but noticed there were no shoes for him to wear. That could be a problem if he ever figured out how to get out of this place but it was not the most pressing of his worries.

Now with nothing further to do he sat back on the bed, with the pillows bunched up behind his back, and stared at the closed door between his room and Holmes', wondering if it would swing open and what would happen then. His stomach clenched slightly with nerves, but having eaten well twice, cleaned up and had maybe not a great night but more sleep than he'd had for a while, he felt better about facing down the creature.

As he sat there, he wondered once more what had become of Molly.

oOo

When the tall, kind man with the graying hair led her out of the holding cell, Molly was not aware of anything that was going on. Her thoughts were fuzzy and it was only the gentle hand on her arm that kept her upright. A sympathetic voice whispered in her ear that it was going to be all right and that she was going to be looked after. He led her down a hall, up some steps and into the bright sunshine. A car was waiting outside and he helped her in. A few moments later a petit, dark haired woman, impeccably dressed sat down beside her and patted her arm in an overly friendly and familiar manner.

"All set, my dear? You are going to make a lovely addition to my home." She smiled a dazzling smile at a very confused Molly.

"Don't worry. The effects from my saliva will wear off shortly. You'll be up and about in no time." Molly continued puzzled over this woman's words and it wasn't until the car pulled away that all of the pieces fell into place. The woman sitting beside her was no woman but one of the Shadows. Fear churned in her stomach and anxiety coursed through her veins. The raw emotions cleared the muddiness of her thoughts. As her stomach roiled she hoped she wouldn't throw up in the car. Molly pressed her hands together to prevent the trembling from shattering her apart.

There was a sound from the creature beside her, almost a predatory purr. The female leaned closer. There was an impression of dark eyes with the faintest hint of silver. A throaty voice whispered in her ear. "Oh my dear, we are going to have such a good time together, but you need to relax. As much as I occasionally enjoy the sharp flavour of fear and apprehension that is flooding your body right now, I much prefer a taste of desire. Not all of my people have begun to appreciate how much arousal can add to the thrill of drinking your essence. Not all like to…indulge. We are rather a backward species that way." She smiled a slow, smile filled with sin and wicked talent. A crimson nail traced a path up Molly's arm and the female leaned closer and began a slow delicate touch of a tongue up the side of her neck, followed by careful kisses. It was nothing Molly had ever experienced, but it was beginning to make her feel shattered and not in the least bit calm. The alien being pressed her body closer and wrapped arms carefully around her as if she was afraid the human woman would break. She closed her eyes tightly and took herself some place else. The creature could do what she wanted with her body but she would not let her touch who she was deep inside.

A soft kiss to her temple and the creature pulled her head down to a bony shoulder as she stroked Molly's arms, almost as if in a parody of comfort. She shushed and rocked her and then whispered

"Not all of your people have either."

oOo

John awoke with a jerk, not surprised he had fallen asleep. After the events of the last few days and the rollercoaster ride of emotions combined with mind numbing boredom, there was really nothing else for him to do. He was use to being active and alert, brimming with adrenalin. Inactivity was foreign these days.

He wondered what had caused him to wake when he heard the sound that had crept into his dreams.

Someone was calling his name, harshly and urgent.

_No, not someone. Something._

He stood too fast in his rush to obey that voice and he fought a wave of dizziness. The voice was full of annoyance and a tinge of anger. He was already becoming conditioned to obeying it, which made a part of him extremely displeased with himself. He was left with the feeling he was giving in.

The door that connected the rooms seemed a long way from where he was standing but he walked toward it and paused before he turned the knob. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and threw open the door.

He decided to meet aggravation with irritation.

"What?" he said in a firm voice, only slightly louder than his usual speaking voice.

_Oh John, you are so screwed now. You really want to go a piss off a force of nature like that? Idiot._

But he wanted to show this alien he could push him around all he wanted but he still had backbone.

He stood in the doorway with as impassive a face as he could manage, but he was momentarily surprised by the look on Holmes' face. He had an impression of eyebrows and almost a shocked look, then a flash of something that John was certain was pleasure mixed with a hint of respect. It was swiftly replaced with the next-door neighbour of fury.

_Fuck!_

"You really don't have a survival instinct, do you Dr. Watson? You seem bound and determined to goad me." Holmes frowned at John, his face still black with suppressed anger and John was beginning to wonder if he had imagined that look that had flashed on his face almost too quick to register. "However I have need of you so I will overlook it for now. But do not push me too far today."

He swept that piercing gaze over John, indifferent and clinical, but something in it made John flush and feel uncomfortable and odd.

"You have been sleeping again." It was not a question.

"Well as there isn't much for me to do and I am still recuperating, yes." John said with a slightly defensive tone.

Holmes frowned again, but it wasn't the same look of anger. It was more thoughtful. "I see. I had not realized you required entertainment. Very well. As I have need of your assistance anyway, you might as well accompany me. There has been a development and I could use a pair of human eyes." He stood and walked toward the door of his rooms and lifted a back, wool coat off of the back of the door. "Well?"

"Well what?" John crossed his arms and glowered at the Shadow.

The creature huffed in exasperation. "If you wish to walk out and onto the streets of London feel free, but it may be more appropriate and comfortable for you to wear shoes and a coat. I find it cold today and my kind does not suffer from it as much as yours." The last was said with the hint of a drawl as if John was responsible for all of the frailties of the human race.

"Well I guess I would put on shoes and a jacket if I had any." John slipped his hands into his pockets and tilted his head to the side.

Holmes stopped and glared at John. When it was obvious he wasn't lying, he rolled his eyes and walked over to the phone. Picking it up, he quickly pressed a few buttons and hissed something in the language of the Shadows. John was reminded of a snake slithering on the floor. He shuddered slightly. Of course the Shadow caught it, but he merely stared at John.

John was wondering what was happening now. He assumed that the creature had called down to inquire about suitable apparel. Whilst they waited, neither said anything. He watched as Holmes put on his great coat and tie a blue scarf around his neck.

Just as he was wondering how much more awkward it could get, there was a tentative knock at the door. Sherlock looked at John and raised an eyebrow.

_Really_, thought John, _if he keeps doing that they are going to stick there._

Nothing happened for a moment and the knock came again. Sherlock said softly, a hint of exasperation in his voice, "Get the door."

John nodded sharply and walked to the door, throwing it open. A young human male stood there, obviously scared, holding what looked like a pair of shoes and a black jacket.

A timid voice said, "Here you go, sir." John smiled a much warmer and friendlier smile than he would have at the Shadows and thanked the young boy. He wondered briefly about the role someone so young was suppose to have here, but then decide there was enough to deal with at the moment.

He closed the door again and turned to put his shoes on only to see Holmes had been watching the exchange.

"We don't." Holmes said abruptly.

"What?" John said, confused.

"We don't touch your young. That would be," and he swallowed distastefully. "That would be very wrong."

John must have looked surprised and perhaps a little doubtful.

The Shadow stepped closer to John and for once did not look intimidating. "To touch someone so young, to take from them, like that. No John, that would be an unpardonable sin. Even we have our limits." He paused and searched John's face. "And our punishments. It would not be tolerated."

He turned and swept out the door leaving John standing there stunned. He barely noticed that the Shadow had not addressed him as Dr. Watson.

He popped his head back in and barked. "Are you coming?"

John shook his head with wonder and an uneasy feeling if there was more to the Shadows than he wanted to know. It was so much simpler to hate something that was purely evil. Not so easy when they had morals not unlike your own.

He had held onto hatred of the Shadows for a long time so the feeling didn't last.

oOo

Holmes had bustled him into a car and they had driven for a while until they came to a set of abandoned flats. There seemed to be a small crowd gathered outside on the kerb.

The Shadow jumped from the car as it rolled to a stop and avoided waiting for the driver. John took a little more time to exit. He hadn't been outside for a few days and he was enjoying the air.

He followed behind the taller figure in the swoopy coat. He knew better than to try and make a run for it. A conversation in the car had reinforced the fact that Holmes expected him to try to run and to remember that he was aware of the location of his friends who had been with him in the holding cell. If he wished them to be safe he would play nice.

And then to clinch the deal he was informed that a subcutaneous tracker was placed on his person and that would make it so much easier to find him.

John had swallowed heavily at that news. It must have happened during one of his blackouts. He had raised an eyebrow, the question of location obvious in his blue eyes. Holmes had chuckled darkly and informed him he didn't want to know where.

John had muttered, "Good to know."

As they walked through the crowd, the doctor recognized the tall, silver haired human from his time at the old police station. He was surprised but not as surprised as the other was.

"What's he doing here? Are you mad?"

Holmes ignored the human. "What have you got, Lestrade?"

The other, Lestrade, just sighed as if he were use to dealing with this creature and his quirks and rapidly launched into a description of a murder of a human that had taken place last night.

"So why call me Lestrade? You have people to deal with this. Frankly I am surprised you wasted my time bringing me down here."

John paid close attention. From what he knew, crimes had all but disappeared with the arrival of the Shadows. At least that's what they had been told. Perhaps all was not as it seemed.

"Yeah but this isn't an ordinary murder, Sherlock. The human was murdered by a Shadow."

John took in the look of shock on Holmes' face and sucked in his breath at nearly the same time Holmes did. Questions pilled up like building blocks. Why would he care if a Shadow murdered a human? They did it all the time when they fed, not to mention all the humans who had been killed during the invasion.

Sherlock gestured for Lestrade to lead the way. They entered through the main door and walked a short way into the first flat. The door looked like it had been ripped off by something very strong.

John watched Sherlock. He couldn't help it. The tall being moved as if in a dance as he swept into the room and circled the body of a young woman lying face down upon the floor. He was fascinated despite himself.

John stared, reminded of that first night of the Shadows arrival. Her neck had been broken and she was tossed aside as if she were refuse. Used and discarded.

Holmes bent over, touched her clothing, sniffed her face, looked into her mouth and under her nails and then abruptly stood. He glanced at John who was standing there wondering what he was supposed to be doing.

"Dr. Watson, if you would be so kind."

John looked at Holmes, puzzled.

Have a look and tell me what you think."

John paused and then bent down. He checked her pupils and nonexistent pulse and then stood, his leg protesting as he did. The Shadow blinked at him.

"Well?"

"Well what? You know as well as I did that what he said," and he jerked a thumb at Lestrade. "She was killed by one of yours. Why am I here exactly?"

"I was hoping you'd go deeper. Besides, Dr. Watson, this is much more fun than sitting around your room all day, sleeping," he sneered.

"Yeah, but you lot kill us all the time. What makes this one so special?"

The Shadow whirled on John. "No. We don't." He said it very decisively.

"No you don't what?"

"Good lord, are you always this stupid? No, we do not kill your people all of the time. I myself have never killed any of you."

John stood there, completely nonplussed. Something was not making sense and he continued to stare at Holmes as if he was not speaking English

Sherlock looked at him with something that simply could not be compassion.

"Oh my dear doctor. You really are disillusioned aren't you? Been fed all sorts of erroneous information." He once more stood in John's space. "We do not needlessly kill humans. Yes, we need them to sustain our forms, here. Yes we will kill, when threatened." He paused and looked deeply into John's eyes. The doctor held his breath at what he saw there. "But we do not kill you for killing's sake. This young woman was slaughtered for sport. By a Shadow."

He stared a moment longer at John and then abruptly turned, dismissing him and spoke to Lestrade. "I need to go and inform my brother. We have a rogue Shadow. I think I know who it is."

And he swept out of the room leaving a thoroughly confused John behind.

Lestrade looked at him with sympathy.

"I know, mate. Takes some getting use to. But he's right. I've been working with them since the beginning and I have yet to see one kill us needlessly." He sighed softly, looking sadly at the young girl on the ground. "Today's an exception."

John just blinked at Lestrade, "But I don't understand. They started the war against us. They invaded our dimension. I saw creatures like that," and he pointed vehemently at the departed Shadows direction "I saw them kill us."

Lestrade looked at John, and then said quietly. "No Dr. Watson, you didn't. And they didn't start the war. We did."


	5. 5 Just Because It's True

**A/N: Again apologies for the delay but hoping to make that up to you by giving you over 4,000 words and a whole lot more questions. I promise to answer some of them next chapter – I really do have a plan:P**

**Warning: Triggers for rape (sorry). Swearing. And edited in a bit of a hurry, so please forgive my mistakes:)**

5. Just Because It's True

The words hung in the air. He could almost see them like a cartoon bubble.

"They didn't start the war. We did."

But that was patently ridiculous. John had been there that night, on the front lines. He had seen the devastation caused by the creatures. Stunned didn't even begin to cover it. He simply could not believe the words that came from Lestrade's mouth. He stood there, looking at the older, taller man, not even sure if he could be bothered to keep the disgust out of his voice and off of his face. Lestrade who was working with the Shadows and probably had no idea what it was like out in the real war.

"What the hell is that suppose to mean," he hissed at him, underneath his breath, his finger out and pointing in the direction the Shadow had gone, jabbing the air as if he could poke through Lestrade's lie. "We did not start the war. They did! They invaded. And I saw people killed in front of me. At a hospital for Christ sake!"

He looked at John with a measure of sympathy and grimaced. "I really can't tell you. You need to ask your Benefactor. It's not my place to decide what you need to know." He paused as if he wanted to say more, but shrugged a little and then straightened. "Which reminds me." He left the room, leaving behind a thoroughly confused John, a man who stood there with a sour taste in his mouth and the feeling that everything he had believed in was crumbling out from under him.

He didn't want to listen to this man. He couldn't, he was a Collaborator.

The doctor shook himself and then he heard it, but this time he wasn't asleep. Once again he thought someone was calling his name. He thought when he was sleeping earlier that he had heard it through the closed door, but now he had the sensation it was in his head or in his chest, a rumble of his name that shook through him. He ran fingers through his hair and trotted out the door, hoping he was imagining it.

As he exited the building he saw the grey haired man speaking to Holmes. As he drew closer he heard snatches of a quiet conversation "...have to put a rein on her...no clearance"

Holmes looked his usual bored self but he did run a finger over his lips.

"I will speak to Mycroft," his lip twisted a bit at the mention of the other Holmes. He then looked at Lestrade with the same intense look he gave John, but John fancied it was with less aggression. "If this woman was with the Terrorists, her life was forfeited, to do with what we wish."

Lestrade muttered something like "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Holmes look shifted in a blink to cold and chilling. "Don't overstep yourself, Inspector. Remember you have young at home."

He moved his head and measured and pinned John with that imperious, emotionless stare.

He then turned and climbed into the waiting car.

Lestrade stopped John with a hand to his arm, just before he climbed in. "You want answers. You could start by simply asking. There's more going on than you know."

John stared back and then with a huff shook Lestrade's hand off.

"People keep telling me that, but I know what I saw." He followed Holmes into the car.

The start of the ride back was silent, heavy and pregnant. John was lost in his own thoughts and Holmes was not really part of his awareness until he heard the creature beside him clear his throat. "You have questions. Out with it."

John turned to stare at Holmes, surprised. "Seriously? You want me to ask you things you probably don't want me to know?"

Holmes fiddled with the leather gloves he was wearing.

"I do not have to answer any of your questions but your thinking is so loud it is distracting me. So ask. If I don't wish you to know I won't tell you." He stared out the window not bothered to even glance in John's direction.

John thought a moment. He wasn't sure where to begin. He didn't know where to start with the anger that coursed through him, distracted him. He really didn't want to be a corpse before they got back.

Keeping his voice as even as he could through clenched teeth, he spoke. "You said your kind don't kill us. Yet on the night of the invasion I saw Shadows killing people. A young woman was murdered right in front of me. Care to explain?"

"Watch your tone, Doctor," the tall Shadow muttered, with a warning spark in his eyes. "No _my_ kind don't kill you. Not without provocation or in self-defense. There are those who are similar to us that do enjoy hunting and killing humans for sport and to exact revenge. _My_ kind likes to look at our relationship with humans as more of a symbiotic association, which I will not get into at this time. Next."

John tried to control his breathing. This Holmes really had a way of getting under his skin.

"That Inspector - Lestrade, he said we started this war. What did he mean?"

"Ah that's an important question. Good. Now you are thinking. Always start at the beginning, Watson."

"Well?"

"I am not prepared to answer that one at this time. Perhaps soon. We will have to see. Next."

John thought a moment. He thought about the things that were said when he was laying like a puddle at this creature's feet.

"Why me?"

Holmes turned and looked at John sharply. He blinked. There was something there in Holmes face, but gone in an instant. Once again John was left to wondering if he had imagined it or not.

"Pardon?"

"Why did you pick me? In your brother's office, you told him you were certain I was the one, so why me?"

Holmes continued to stare at John. He tugged at his lip again, before he gave a rapid-fire response.

"Don't think yourself so special Doctor. I picked you because you are a Terrorist and your life is mine. I need someone who can handle things when it gets rough. You were in the army. Your training could come in handy. I am often in unpredictable situations. Your skills as a doctor also proved useful. You are, however, easily replaced. Next." He resumed his bored and dismissive tone, but John was not fooled. He was intensely curious as to why Holmes was so obviously lying about his importance. And there had been something flash in Holmes eyes. That hint of respect again and pleasure in something John had done. There were hints of something else, something deeper that spoke of fear and desperation. Maybe he was reading the creature wrong. After all he couldn't be expected to respond the same way as humans would.

"You said rogue Shadow? Is that Shadow part of these others you spoke of?"

Holmes flicked him another inscrutable glare, "Next."

John blew out his breath in frustration, but he decided to push on. He would mull all of this over later. As long as Holmes was willing, he'd keep asking.

"What happened to my friends, those captured with me? Where are they?" He asked this softly, not playing on Holmes' sympathies, he knew he didn't have any, but with trepidation at Homes' answer. Some of the last few minutes in the cell were a bit fuzzy.

"They, like you, are Terrorists. If they were not to be used as Attendants then the women would be used to breed more of you. Their children would not suffer the shame of their mothers but would be educated and cared for. The men would be used to provide sustenance for those who work in areas where having an Attendant is not advisable."

John muttered something under his breath; he felt the hot sting of tears behind his eyes as he thought of the fate of his friends. He wasn't going to give Holmes the satisfaction, however. He could feel Holmes' stare, harsh and unforgiving. Then he felt a hand on his chin and he was forced to look up. Holmes wasn't rough like he had been last night but there was no compassion in his touch either.

"You may not like it Doctor Watson, but that is the way it is. You and your little group of rebels wanted to continue the war, but those on the losing side don't get to make the rules." Holmes voice turned hard. " You and yours killed many of us and some of your own. We don't have young easily and every life is precious. What you did is not easily forgiven. There is always a price and you are just beginning to pay it." His thumb dug in a little and he gave John's head a shake before letting go.

"You don't know us very well. Mr. Holmes. We don't give up. And don't forget, those on the winning side write the histories. Perhaps you don't have the whole story."

"We don't give up either, Doctor. And once more you are working under the belief of false assumptions. This is tedious. You have begun to bore me. I am done for now. No more questions."

John stared down at his feet and continued to do so for the rest of the ride, his head and heart heavy with the conversation, more questions saturating his thoughts than had been answered and he felt unsatisfied with what he had learned.

There was a twinge of remorse as he thought about what Holmes had said, about their kind not reproducing easily, but he forced it down.

A few minutes later the car pulled up in front of the building they were staying. John thought it looked familiar, some of the left over government buildings from when the humans had been in power. Holmes had jumped out of the car almost before it came to a stop and John followed slowly behind. He glanced around as he did, attempting to scan the area for ways of escape. There were armed guards patrolling the area, lots of CCTV cameras. He was also in the heart of Shadow territory. It would not be easy to leave. And then there was the idea of the tracker somewhere on his person. He'd have to see if he could find any marks indicating where it might be during his next shower.

They entered the building and were met by Mycroft Holmes.

Without preamble he began speaking, "We have a situation."

"More than one it would seem."

The elder Holmes' eyebrow quirked a question.

"The Rogues made an appearance last night."

Mycroft Holmes' face stilled as he absorbed this news.

"I thought we had driven them back."

"It appears not."

"Obviously"

"What is your news? Oh. I see. Adler again. I don't know why you don't send her back. She is more trouble than she's worth." Sherlock's voice was once again uninterested. "Can you not keep control of her? Lestrade was mewling about her this morning. Mentioned she took a young woman without clearance. One of the Terrorists."

John's head swiveled to look at Sherlock; his agitation at the possibility there was news of his friend evident. "Do you mean Molly? Are you talking about Molly Hooper?"

It was Sherlock's turn to raise an eyebrow. He turned to his brother.

Mycroft looked at John for the first time since they came though the door. "Yes. That is the name I was given. I suppose it shouldn't matter, as she is a Terrorist, but apparently it does." His voice was soft and seemed uncaring, but John thought he detected an undercurrent here. He was beginning to wonder if he was picking up on Shadow nuances, but it didn't seem to come from him. It appeared to come from outside of him, like when he heard his name earlier. A he thought this he realized Sherlock appeared suddenly more interested. If he were a dog his ears would have perked up.

"What is it?" he asked. "Is she…?" and he left the question unasked, but there was a brief flicker of a glance in John's direction.

"Yes." Mycroft's one word answer was laden with meaning.

Sherlock sighed. "I suppose we should go see her. Shall I or are you interested?"

"Oh I am very interested, but I don't have the time. Try not to hurt Adler. She has her uses." He turned to leave, but stopped and looked back at Sherlock.

"You aren't going to go after Rogues on your own. We must prepare." There was a note of authority in his voice.

Sherlock looked like he was going to argue, but Mycroft cleared his throat and this time it was obvious both Shadows were looking in John's direction.

"What?" he asked.

Sherlock shrugged and came out of what ever thoughts he had. "Now is not the time Doctor. Perhaps when we return. Very well Mycroft but you will owe me."

"I believe this make us even." Again John felt the weight of the two on him. He was getting very frustrated with all of the talk about him as if he weren't there.

"Oi you two! Stop talking about me as if I'm not in the room!"

"Indeed." Mycroft sniffed. "Off you go, gentlemen." He smirked at John and turned and made his way back up the stairs, the two dismissed from his mind as soon as he turned his back upon them.

Sherlock twisted around and made his way back out to the car. He was obviously annoyed at being ordered about by his brother but there was also an air of excitement flowing about him.

In the car and on their way once more, Holmes turned to John. "I must warn you. Irene Adler is a very dangerous Shadow. She follows her own rules. She belongs to no one and only has her own interests at heart." He paused and swallowed distastefully. "She may try to use you. She will find you most fascinating."

"Because it's been a barrel of laughs so far with you," John muttered. Instead of being angry Holmes smirked at John. "I am surprised she did not try to take you as well as the Hooper woman. Perhaps because she knew I was looking for you." And then he added almost too quiet for John to hear. "We didn't know about her."

"Why is everyone so interested in me and Molly?" John asked, not able to keep silent, but Holmes merely looked at him and chose not to answer. The rest of the ride was silent.

oOo

Molly wasn't sure how long she'd been at Irene's house. Once they had arrived she had been setup in her own room, simple but elegant. A huge bed took up most of the room. Not much else in the way of furnishing. Molly had been ordered to shower and a meal was waiting for her when she came out of the bathroom. She was dressed in clean and comfortable sleepwear. She wasn't to know but it was similar to John's first evening. She was nervous and jumpy, expecting the female Shadow to enter at any moment, but she was left to her own devices. There was a window so she could see the time of day, but she was so exhausted from her ordeal she wasn't sure how long she'd slept that first night.

She had been left with an assortment of books and old magazines, but by what she thought was her second day, she was bored and edgy. Not that she wanted her boredom relieved by anything Irene might have in mind. There had been no sign of her, just a pretty redhead who came with her meals. She had introduced herself as Kate. She was human, seemed nice, but was obviously enamored with her Shadow. It was from her she had learned her Benefactor's name. Like John she was not impressed with the name.

Just as she was wondering if she should get up and do something, exercises, yoga, something, the door to her room opened and in walked Irene, graceful, elegant, and scary as all hell. Molly felt her heart rate increase and she sat up, back to the headboard as she tried to make herself as small as possible.

Irene sauntered to the bed, a gleam in her eye and a look of anticipation on her face.

"Hello, my dear. I hope you haven't been too lonely. I was detained with some other business and haven't had a chance to come and see you. Of course now I am utterly famished and you look so delicious sitting there." She made her way to the side of the bed and sat on the edge. She reached down and pulled off her shoes and tucked her feet up under her as she reached across and captured Molly's hand. Molly tried to tug it away but the Shadow was stronger and the tugging just made her smile increase, become more predatory.

"Don't you remember me saying I like an Attendant who puts up a fight? More of a challenge." She leaned forward and tucked Molly's hair back off of her face. Molly shuddered with the touch. She leaned in a whispered in Molly's ear, "You are going to be so special to me." And then she reached down and once more ran her crimson nails up Molly's arm, but held Molly's gaze with her eyes, which were beginning to burn bright silver. "You see dear, most of us just feed. We can make it pleasant or not. I prefer pleasant. Some like the taste of fear. We don't usually engaged in what you term as sex. That would be playing with one's food. Just isn't done. How ever I have never been one for convention. Some think I am a deviant." She leaned in closer to Moly, inhaling. Her fragrance. "You are so incredibly yummy. There's something very different about you." She paused for a moment and looked very thoughtful, but then a dismissive look came upon her face and she continued, leaning in closer, brushing her lips along the side of Molly's neck. "Mmmmm."

Molly yelled and hit out at Irene. "Oh no you don't!" Irene easily caught Molly's other hand in her strong grip and continued to smile and pressed into the young woman. She breathed lightly on Molly's ear and hummed. And then began to kiss her along her jaw line. Molly continued to struggle, tears of fear and rage steaming from her eyes, as she was powerless to do more.

After the first taste of Molly's skin under her tongue, Irene's hunger overtook her and she decided to save the wrestling for when the edge of her appetite had been satisfied. She captured Molly's mouth in her own. Molly screwed her eyes closed and her yell turned into a moan as Irene's tongue entered into her mouth and began to slowly and carefully caress the inside. Molly continued to sob as her fear and rage was pushed aside by the desire, which flooded her senses. The back of her mind hammered at her, told her not to give up, but she was overwhelmed.

Irene broke off the kiss. "There is something different about you. Something exciting." Her voice was throaty and the gleam in her eyes deepened. And before Molly could recover she had her mouth invaded once more. The break of contact had given Molly a chance to clear her head. The effect from the creature's saliva didn't seem to be incapacitating her the same way as it had before. She pulled her right leg up and managed to edge it between her body and Irene's. Even as wave after wave of desire broke over her she pushed as hard as she could into the creature's stomach. Irene grunted, captured both of Molly's arms in one of her own and pushed her leg out of the way. Instead of taking her arm back, she reached down and began to slowly undo Molly's buttons on her pyjama top.

Just as she came to the last button, the door to the bedroom swung open and Molly heard a deep rich voice intone, "Dull".

There was a flurry of movement as a short familiar figure entered into the room behind the taller. Irene turned and hissed at the two standing there. She shouted something in the Shadow's eerie language. Molly took advantage of the distraction and managed to kick out at Irene, hard enough to cause her to turn back to deal with her. Enraged at Molly's defiance and at being interrupted, she swung her hand back to hit her, but was blocked by the taller rescuer. "Miss Adler, you have done enough damage, don't you think?"

Molly continued to hit and shriek at Irene as she was pulled off of the bed by the familiar figure. She tried to fight him off as well, but finally, shouts of "Molly it's me! John!" penetrated her cries of rage. He pulled her out of the room and into the bathroom where he managed to turn her into his arms and stroke her back while she finally began to cry. He reached with one hand and wet a flannel to wipe her face. As she calmed down enough to become more aware of her surroundings she realized her top was open and she blushed while she tried to do up the buttons with shaky hands. John continued to murmur it was 'alright, it will be fine'. The two stopped as the yelling in the other room penetrated the thick walls of the bedroom. It sounded like two angry cats. John pushed Molly behind him as he cautiously peered around the door to see the Irene woman lunge at Holmes with her fingers extended. He had thought he'd seen Sherlock angry before but it was nothing to the look on his face as he defended himself against Irene.

Sherlock quickly glanced at John and roared at him "Get her out of her. I will deal with this." John didn't have to be told twice. He turned and half dragged, half carried Molly out of the room.

When Irene saw that John was taking away her Attendant she shrieked, a sound, which threatened to burst John's eardrums and sent shivers down his spine.

She yelled after him "NO! She's mine! I've made her mine. You can't have her!"

John ignored her and continued to hurry Molly along. He entered the hallway and not seeing anyone, pulled Molly behind him as he made his way back to the car. He was half thinking he could escape with her, but he was sure she would have a tracker as well. Besides she looked worn out from the emotional upheaval and the attack. Hell, rape was closer to what John had witnessed in there.

He shoved her into the car and pulled her back into his arms while she shuddered and cried. She pulled back after a few moments, wiping her eyes and nose with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she cried.

"Why are you sorry?" John asked.

"I'm getting tears and snot all over you."

"Oh hey there. No worries. What's a little mucus between friends?" and he smiled a warm smile at her he didn't entirely feel. He wasn't sure if rescuing her from the Adler woman was any better as she was now in Sherlock Holmes' hands.

Holmes yanked opened the car door and climbed in. John noted his hair was mussed and there was a long scratch on the side of his face. He was breathing heavily.

"You're bleeding," John said.

"I'm fine," he drawled.

"What the hell was that all about?"

Holmes flicked his eyes at Molly.

"I'll tell you later. Right now let's get Miss Hooper somewhere safe."

John muttered "Oh yeah, because being with you is so much safer."

The Shadow looked at him sideways and flushed, but he didn't seem angry. "Believe me, Doctor Watson, you have no idea."

John turned to him and continued to whisper harshly under his breath

"Really? You are saying that to me? Christ, you think I am having a picnic here?"

"That's enough, John," he sounded angry now. "I will explain later. You are upsetting Miss Hooper."

"I'm getting rather tired of being told by everyone that they'll explain later!"

"Enough! You have a patient. Deal with her first!"

"Since when do you care?" John snapped at him.

Holmes glared at John even more fiercely and that look flickered and was gone again.

"Since you came into my life."


	6. 6 The Divide That Could Swallow Us Whole

**A/N: Here we go – I answered a lot in this chapter, but not all:D There's more to come:)**

**Don't own. Not at all:)**

6. The Divide That Could Swallow Us Whole

"Since you came into my life."

John stared at Holmes. He opened his mouth to say something, to ask questions but he couldn't. He felt his mouth shut. There really wasn't a lot he could say. He wasn't even sure what the hell it meant or if it was good or not good. So he concentrated on Molly. Shortly after the car pulled away, she placed her head on his shoulder. He held her close and he could feel her body start to relax and she breathed deeply. She was asleep soon after. He laid his cheek on top of her head and stroked her arm. He had never been romantically interested in Molly. They had become friends after joining the resistance, but he felt very protective of her. He stared ahead while thinking hard about what Holmes had said.

He became aware that he was being stared at.

He turned and looked at Holmes.

"Do you like her?" the creature asked softly in order to not wake the woman slumbering against his Attendant.

John was a little surprised by the question.

"Course I like her," he almost growled. "We are friends."

"I meant do you wish to have intercourse with her?"

John almost choked and he barked laugh. "Not that it's any of your business, but no. It's not like that. We're friends."

He glanced over at Holmes and was surprised by the look on his face. It was almost one of relief, but John wasn't sure. It left him feeling odd. "Why do you care?" John asked despite the fact he was really not interested in having this conversation.

Holmes shrugged. John had the feeling he was feigning indifference.

"If you were interested I could arrange something. You would be a good match, although any offspring you two produced would be rather on the short side. You both appear highly intelligent and healthy. Your progeny would make good…"

"No! No! Do not go there! That is not happening," John quietly fumed. _Seriously? This Shadow was trying to get him laid?_

"If I decided it was to our benefit you really wouldn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice." John was having a really hard time keeping his voice quiet.

Holmes looked at him "Not when I own you."

John glared, but shut up. He pulled Molly a little closer as if he could shield her from Holmes' words. He felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. _Was this the reason we rescued Molly? Saved her from one type of sexual abuse only to be thrust into another?_ He was not going to be able to fix this. At least not easily. _How the hell did my life become so fucked up?_

He turned his head and looked out the opposite window to avoid looking at the Shadow.

He didn't notice Sherlock continued to watch him as they drove back to their home.

They arrived shortly after, leaving John to quickly shove down the uncomfortable realities of his existence whilst he helped a sleepy Molly out of the car. Holmes leaned over and scooped her into his arms.

"Hey!" John grabbed at one of the Shadow's arm.

"I am simply being expedient, Dr. Watson. I am not going to harm her."

John reluctantly let go of Holmes' arm and nodded curtly and followed the other into the building. With his greater agility and strength, Holmes carried Molly easily up the stairs and down the hall, past their rooms to another door. With a jerk of his head he directed for the door to be opened. John followed them into a room similar to his own. Holmes gently deposited Molly on the bed and backed away to give the doctor a chance to examine her. Having briefly roused during the passage to the room, Molly slipped back under as John was gently looking at her bruises.

"Molly?" he said softly.

She blinked at him. "Are you hurt anywhere?" She thought hard then groggily shook her head before she slipped back under. John frowned.

He glanced back at Holmes who gestured at him to leave. John carefully folded the duvet over Molly and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. He stood in the hallway with the taller creature, his arms aggressively crossing his chest.

"Do you mind telling me why she is so tired? Yes, some of it is shock and she probably hasn't had a decent night's sleep, but she isn't able to keep her eyes open. What the hell is going on?"

Holmes stood there with his hands behind his back and he was slowly rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He seemed to be coming to a decision.

"Come with me," in that imperial tone. The creature turned and walked back to their rooms.

John sighed and followed as there didn't seem to be anything else for him to do and maybe he'd get more answers.

Holmes walked in to his room, not looking to see if John followed or not. He removed his scarf and coat and carelessly dropped them upon the sofa near the door.

John took off his own coat and hung it on a hook. He eyed the expensive looking coat on the sofa. He picked it up and carefully placed it beside his own.

He turned around and found Holmes looking at him with an expression of amusement.

"Habit. First my mum, then the army." Not sure why he was bothering to explain. He shrugged and sat down on the sofa.

Holmes looked at John and then nodded as he began to pace back and forth in front of the human. He seemed to be having an internal argument with himself. John leaned back and waited.

The tall, lanky creature abruptly span toward John.

"You need to watch her over the next few days. Watch her for any signs of fever."

"Fever? Why?"

"Trust me."

"I don't thanks."

Holmes scowled. "You are the most obstinate Attendant I have ever had." He ran fingers through his hair. "I am going to tell you but it's a long story. Just promise you will watch her."

John looked puzzled, "Of course, but…"

"Patience!" the other growled. "I'm trying to figure out how much I need to tell you in order for you to understand."

"Why do you care whether I understand or not? You have been pushing me around since I have been captured. You have made it perfectly clear that I am your property. You have threatened those I care about. Why the hell should you want things made clear? Why not just tell me to do it and leave it be?" John's voice rose with all of the suppressed anger he had been carrying around for the last few days.

The Shadow turned pale and John could see he had crossed a line. Anger blazed in the creature's eyes and silver rose up from below. A shudder ran through his body as he visibly contained his fury toward the smaller human. He stepped up to John, only an inch of space between them. "You will sit down and you will listen. You will not interrupt. I have reasons for doing what I am doing if you will just have _patience_." The last word was roared at John.

John didn't flinch but he did sit down, his own anger barely in check.

"Fine." He really couldn't keep his mouth shut.

Holmes gave him one last dark look and then he said, "It's a long story. We will need sustenance." He turned and picked up the phone and began to speak rapidly into it.

_Great_, thought John, wincing slightly.

"No, not that." the creature snapped at him. "I don't require your services at this time. We do eat other nutrients as well." He waved his hand around. "Your essence feeds our souls and our energy, helps us with maintaining our camouflage and other things. Plant material feeds our bodies. It's complex."

The creature ran a hand through his hair once more. The doctor could tell he was agitated by whatever it was he needed to tell John. "Look I am going to explain." He said this almost in a pleading tone, but John was suspicious. He didn't seem to be quite the same creature that had simply grabbed John a few days ago and threatened him. the anger was still there but there was a softening around the edges as if he had changed.

They continued to glare at one another for a few minutes until there was a knock at the door. It made John jump. Holmes raised an eyebrow and John stood to get the door with the look sent in his direction. A different servant came in, an older woman. "Here you are dears," she said.

Holmes walked over and helped the older lady with the trolley.

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson."

"You're quite welcome Mr. Holmes. Do you need anything else? Can I do any tidying for you?"

"No thank you Mrs. Hudson. Perhaps later." John's jaw dropped at the polite tones reserved for the lady with the trolley. She must be someone special. The lady, Mrs. Hudson reached up and patted Holmes on the cheek, before leaving. She smiled at John, with great kindness, on her way out.

Holmes turned and took it he expression on John's face, "What?"

"It's just…you and her. What the hell? You weren't exactly scary monster type with her."

John wasn't sure but he thought Holmes seemed offended. _So the scary monster didn't like being called scary monster._

"She is a great lady and a good friend. She saved my life and I hers." He said nothing further but walked over to the trolley and looked at what was there. He ignored the plate of sandwiches and took up an apple. He tossed it back and forth between his hands in a thoughtful sort of way. Even though his stomach was churning, John grabbed a few sandwiches and a cup of tea and sat back on the couch waited.

Holmes looked thoughtfully at the apple.

"Our people have been visiting your world, your dimension for centuries. We learned about it through our science long before your kind even knew what science was. Humans intrigued us. They could learn so quickly, but were violent and we did not trust them. We hid ourselves for many years. Some few discovered us or saw us for what we were. We gave rise to legends in your world. Some called us _fae_, the Greeks thought we were the Fates or the _Moirai_, The closest anyone came to our own name for our people were the Celts. They called us _Sidhe_. Some saw us as angels, others as demons. But we were just explorers. We were curious. We meant no harm and we caused as little as possible."

"We lived in ignorant harmony with you because few knew us or saw us for what we really were. We invited certain folk to visit with us, but not one of your people was able to tell how to get through to our word. We believed ourselves to be safe."

He paused and started pacing. The longer he talked the more frantic his movements. Holmes was clearly upset by the images he was seeing in his mind.

"Then we made a mistake," he continued. "We thought that we could help you with your world. We thought we could help you save its beauty and to live more like we do, in harmony with our world. We decided to show ourselves to your leaders."

He stopped and stared out the window.

"We took some of your leaders to our world. We showed them things that were wondrous to them, simple things we could do. They were impressed and surprised. They hid other, negative feelings from us.''

He turned and looked at John and John could see the anguish there. "They were jealous and they were frightened of us."

He turned away and stared out the window, lost in his thoughts. Holmes shook himself and picked up the story again.

"We didn't know what happened at first. Our people started dying at an alarming rate. Our scientists realized that it was a virus. It wasn't long after they discovered it had been created specifically for us. Your leaders introduced a virus into our water supply. It was suppose to kill us all. It didn't."

Bitterness painted bright colours throughout Sherlock's voice. "It killed off many of us, but those it didn't kill outright were mutated. Our world is interconnected with us and it was changed and damaged as well. We had to adapt. We had to adapt or die out as a race."

"When we discovered it was your people who had done this to us, many wanted revenge, wanted the same thing to happen to you as happened to us. But we were also discovering that our mutation was changing certain innate abilities. We found we needed you. The long centuries of traveling back and forth between our worlds had tied us to you in an unexpected way. And the virus changed our DNA and made us dependent on you." He paused once more and smiled grimly. "An unexpected benefit."

He looked at the apple in his hand. He then took a fierce bite and chewed thoughtfully before he put it down. He stood in front of John, hands in his pockets. "We planned for a quiet invasion. We would sneak in and slowly take over your government. We would make gradual changes and your people wouldn't even know. Mycroft came up with the plan. It was brilliant and flawless. It would have been a bloodless victory. We would then make necessary changes to your environment." He shook his head. "We didn't count on the other faction, the Rogues. They had quieted their calls for revenge. We thought they would go along with us. We opened a rift between our worlds. It was spectacularly beautiful, that night, the lights from our world shining through to yours. Just as we were crossing over, we got word the Rogues were changing the plan. They came in and started attacking and killing. They turned our peaceful conquest into a massacre. Many died on both sides who should not have and it shifted what we were able to do, what we could accomplish. It made you suspicious and wary and lengthened the war that should not have been."

He looked down at the floor. When he raised his head again, anger blazed up through him. "Then people like you! You continued to fight us!" he spat. "You and your uprising just made things worse. We were trying to save our people. And your rebellion wanted to keep killing us. Killing innocents. Our people are so few and we have trouble conceiving. We always have but your kind just made it worse."

John stood up, the cup on his lap falling to the ground and shattering. "I didn't create this virus that changed you! Neither did the people you have enslaved. It wasn't our whole planet. Not all of us!" he stood with his hands clenched, he felt horror at the duplicity human kind had unleashed on Holmes' people, but he knew there had been atrocities from the Shadows as well. He had seen people killed in front of him, drained of life and carelessly tossed aside. "You keep telling me how horrible we are to you, but I have seen the things your people have done to mine! You can't expect us to just lay down and let you walk all over us!"

"You fool!" Sherlock hissed at hm. "Your being a doctor, I would have thought, I hoped, you'd show more compassion!"

"Compassion! After the way you have treated us!"

"You don't understand anything!' Sherlock's eyes blazed bright silver.

"Then fucking enlighten me!" John shouted back.

A feral grin swept across Sherlock's face. "As you wish."

And he stepped up to John and before he could do anything locked both hands around his head. John tried to fight but Sherlock had already swooped down and sealed their mouths together.

Sherlock wasn't feeding this time, he was showing John. He was showing him the images John had seen that first time Sherlock had joined with him. And more.

Emotions shoved through him. The union Sherlock forced upon him caused him to feel everything Sherlock had felt. All of his memories crashed down and over John and left him gasping. This time there was no desire. There was only memories and pain. It was a million times worse than the time Sherlock had punished John.

_A world of terrible beauty, stark, but magnificent; a gentle and graceful People, skilled in art and music, tall and stately. They glowed with a silver light. They communicated with thoughts and feelings, gentle mind sharing. Connected together in everything._

_Peace and harmony and interconnectedness with nature. _

_Fabulous and rare creatures ran through the forests. Dwellings blended into the environment. _

_First meetings with primitive humans and more through the centuries._

_Ancient sorrow at the way humans treated one another and their home. Killing their own kind, hunting the beasts of their world for sport._

_The first meeting with leaders, many of whom he recognized, the upsurge of anticipation and desire to save the Earth from the terrible wars and environmental degradation. Remembered sorrow from their distant past when they had almost lost their own world through greed and how they changed things to show their world kindness. _

_The ravages of the virus as the people died horribly, wasted by the heat of fever. Children and the ancient elders were the hardest hit. The grief from the loss of the young was insurmountable. Old knowledge was wiped out with the death of the Ancients._

_As more people died the bonds between the People and the world began to snap. The People had woven their own essence into the planet. Natural disasters crashed down upon them._

_Those that survived the virus began to show changes. Their light was extinguished. The sliver glow that emanated from them was buried deep and they grew shadowed and dark. The People found they needed to find living essences to survive. Animals of their home didn't work. They stumbled upon the connection between their world and the humans The virus made it necessary to feed on humans._

_It saved them but it distorted them. Some of those who did not die of the virus died of despair at how greatly they had been altered, at the loss of their way of life._

_The change was to their emotional, mental state. The once gentle people became full of anger and hate. Many wanted revenge._

_The leaders came forward with a plan, desperately trying to come up with a solution. The proposal to invade Earth in hopes of helping to save a dying race and a neglected planet. Those who had caused the virus would be punished, others who had not would be taught._

_The discovery of a possible cure, a plan that needed specific humans, matched to compatible People, but that flashed by before it could be grasped._

_The night of the invasion, hope that it would work._

_An upsurge of fear as realization the Rogues had their own plans as the invasion began and the work to try to save the plan._

_Images of that night. Entering a hospital after a Rogue who had a man in his hands. A man seen as a possible candidate for the plan. The man dropping to the floor as the rogue was fought._

_A flash of hope and suppressed joy that he had been found once again. The bitter knowledge and belief that he was just like the people who had created the virus._

_Hope once more and the new understanding he was not. He had just been trying to save his own way of life, the same as the People. _

There was a returned feeling of a solid surface underneath his body as John came back to his surroundings. He felt wave after wave of dizziness sweep over him. He was trembling and panting for breath. He was lying on the floor and Sherlock was looking down at him a strange expression on his face.

John blinked at him, he tried to clear his throat to speak but he was so suffused with foreign emotions, he couldn't process anything. Tears coursed down the side of his face and uncomfortably landed in his ears. He reached up with a shaky hand to wipe them away.

"Now you understand."

John nodded and held back a sob. The devastation he witnessed first hand through Sherlock's memories still enclosed him.

The other cocked his head at the man on the floor. "It looks like we both have apologies to make. I did not see the invasion from your point of view, even with witnessing it first hand. Anger blinded me."

"Did you…" he cleared his throat and tried again. "Were you seeing my memories the same way?"

"Mostly. I was concentrating on giving you the greatest amount of information I could in a short time." He looked away, thinking. He turned back to John. "What I did was dangerous to you, but you needed to understand. Your people, you didn't just mutate us, John. You killed our peace and our joy with the world. We will do anything, we will kill anyone to get that back"

John nodded. He lay there for a minute and then moved as if to get up. Sherlock placed a hand on his shoulder and held him down.

"Lie still," he said sternly. "You shouldn't move yet."

"I'm fine."

"No, you are not. You will be experiencing dizziness and you have been through an emotional upheaval. It hasn't hit you yet."

"You mean it's going to be worse than this?" John reached up and wiped more tears from his eyes. He'd be embarrassed if he weren't so exhausted.

"Your brain is adapting to the memories. It takes a few minutes."

"What do you mean dangerous?"

Sherlock looked at him thoughtfully.

"Human brains are different from ours, but similar enough. The differences make this form of communication tricky. It is not the same as when we feed. It is more intimate and there is a connection made at a deeper level. It is more like the way we use to communicate with each other, before. It is only possible with people like you."

"You are being all mysterious again. For god sake, just tell me." John groaned, as he tried to rub the pain away in his head.

"We looked for people such as you. There is something in your DNA, perhaps from when we visited your world in ancient days, that could possible create a cure for us. I was investigating this before we invaded. I have been looking for more like you since we came here. You are rare. I recognized your potential that first night. But it's has to be on this level. It has to connect through emotion as well as cellular."

"You knew that was me?"

Sherlock nodded.

John wasn't sure what to think. So many memories were pressing in on him.

"Wait!" he suddenly thought. "Were all those your memories? How the fuck old are you?"

"Older than you will ever know," Sherlock smiled enigmatically.

He lay there for another minute not able to absorb any more strangeness and then he sat up, not wishing to lie on the floor any longer.

"John, you really…"

"I'm fine," he muttered again, trying to push Sherlock's hands away from him. He looked straight into Sherlock's eyes and he suddenly realized he wasn't. He could see all the sorrow and anger that lay underneath the Shadow's seemingly detached and cruel exterior. He felt it as if it were his own. Indeed it was. The sobs John had tried to hold back rose up and engulfed him. He started crying in earnest and he couldn't stop. He felt strong arms wrap around him as Sherlock pulled him to his chest.

As he was rocked back and forth, John kept whispering, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

He felt the other's head shake back and forth. "It wasn't you. You didn't know."

"But it was. It was. We tried to kill you. You were so beautiful."

Sherlock didn't say anything. He just continued to hold the sobbing man in his arms until John fell asleep, exhausted by the turmoil in his head.


	7. 7 Unexpected

**A/N: Well 2 updates in a week:) Now here's a chapter you may have been waiting for. Come on I know I would be. **

**Good news –I know exactly where the next chapter is suppose to go:D**

**Bad news – work starts up again & I am not sure when I'll be publishing:(**

**Good news – I have a Twitter account – same name MapleleafCameo & a Tumblr account same name but lowercase – mapleafcameo – and if you follow me I will start posting updates & then I can have more than 3 (that's right 3!) followers on Twitter and 17 (17!) on Tumblr. You know you want to. I also post witty and interesting tidbits and nonsense – okay mostly nonsense:) Sadly I am not very technologically inclined so I don't have interesting, flashy pictures except those I reblog from others more talented than myself.**

**Anyway enough shameless self-promoting and on to what you really came for.**

**Thanks to mattsloved1 for looking this chapter over.**

**Don't own. Good thing. John might never recover**

7. Unexpected

Panic and fear. Body draining heat alternating with chills so deep he thought he'd fall apart. Incredible thirst. Joints that felt like molten lead and glass. Sounds were distorted and seemed to come from far away and then blare in his ears the next. He swam in a miasma of fever and sweat and he seemed to be looking for something but he couldn't remember what it was and when he tried to touch it, it pulled further away. He was desperately thirsty but he couldn't reach the water he knew was there and his arms felt terribly heavy. When it became more than he could bear there was always a cool hand on his forehead and a deep voice to drive away the nightmares that crowded and shook him. Sometimes he thought there was music, like violins, but not, strange and alien, oddly comforting. He could never be sure. Finally exhaustion overtook him and all became still cool dark for a very long time.

When he began to climb out of the abyss his treacherous body had thrown him in, to reach back where there was light, to wake up after the blessed silence, he had trouble focusing his eyes and they felt gritty and sore. He lifted a trembling hand and someone gently placed it back down by his side and a cool flannel wiped the perspiration from his face and the grit from his eyes. He blinked and things became a little clearer, a little more focussed. He heard that same velvety deep voice whispering beside him, telling him he was safe. A strong, thin arm lifted his head off the pillow and cool, life giving liquid passed his lips, treasure in the desert.

He fell rapidly back into a much more settled slumber, not as deep but more restful.

The next time he remembered waking, it was morning. The sun streamed into his room and landed on a figure slumbering in a chair beside his bed. The light was poised just right to highlight the copper strands in the chestnut and brown hair. Sherlock looked like he needed the sleep he was getting as uncomfortable as it seemed. Purple shadows like bruises hung under his eyes and he looked thinner than ever. His head slumped against the wingback and was scrunched up a little. John's neck hurt just watching him.

He must have made a sound because suddenly Sherlock was awake, without any transition. One moment eyes closed, the next open and alert, looking at John. He wasn't sure but it seemed like relief was pushing back the darker edges of fear and panic floating in the green blue eyes. The same feelings that had been similar companions to his fevered dreams.

John tried to speak, to ask what the hell had happened but Sherlock shushed him with a wave and helped him to sit up a bit. He sat on the bed and placed his arm behind John's shoulders, lifting him up so he could drink out of the glass held in the other hand.

John nodded when he'd had enough and lay back amongst the pillows, his eyebrows raised in inquiry.

Sherlock put down the glass, cleared his throat and responded. "You have been very sick." He looked down towards the foot of the bed not at John. "We almost lost you." Was that a tremor in his voice? Amazement worked its way into John's heart. What the hell had happened to this fierce creature where he now seemed tamed?

He felt a chill finger stroke his spine in the place where mortality resides.

"What happened?" he croaked, surprised at how weak he sounded.

Sherlock glanced at him. Gone was the hard-edged arrogant Shadow, the alien who had threatened and terrorized him. In its place was a softer, but no less strange individual.

"It was the virus."

John screwed up his mind, which seemed to be very rusty and not working properly and his thinking was very slow, so he just nodded and lay there, trying to summon up enough energy to move.

Sherlock seemed to be aware he wasn't taking in information. "Just rest. You've been sick for a long time and you are weak. You need to take nourishment and drink liquids. When you are better we will talk." He then helped John into a straighter position, using more pillows to sit him up and once he had him settled, he spoon-fed him a clear broth. It felt good going down, warming and soothing. John would have been mortified by the whole experience except for the fact he knew he was too weak to lift his hand let alone a spoon. He was only able to eat about half of what was there, before he had to lay back with a shaky sigh. Just before he could fall asleep again Sherlock forced him out of bed and led him to the bathroom. John glared at the Shadow, telling him he could do this part by himself, even though he was wondering if he really could. Sherlock was right there when he finished and half carried the exhausted man back to bed. He had no sooner hit the pillow than he was asleep.

It went on like that for the first day and into the second. By the next evening, John was feeling well enough to sit up for a few hours and insisted he feed himself.

He was quiet throughout his meal, but when he was finished he looked at Sherlock who just looked back at him.

"So about this virus?" he said, trying to break the awkward silence.

Sherlock flushed. "What do you remember?" he countered.

Things were still pretty hazy, but he remembered the 'Vulcan mind meld' as it were. He remembered collapsing afterward, but he didn't think he got sick right away. "Hmmm, we were out somewhere. A few days after, the uh, memory swap. There had been another murder, by a Rogue? But it's a little blurry after that." He shrugged in apology.

"You had been tired, but seemed fine, when suddenly you weren't with me, following behind. You had collapsed. By the time Lestrade told me and I reached you, you were burning with fever." Sherlock shuddered as if in remembered pain. "I knew right away. I had seen it enough times to recognize it." His eyes seemed haunted again and the purple shadows under them seemed darker.

John screwed his eyes shut remembering, "You were afraid Molly was going to get it, but she was fine. So what was that about anyway? You never did explain."

"Do you remember what I showed you? About our visits to your world and what I told you about people like you?"

"Yes."

"We think the cure lies with you. We hope to use your immunities to fix our own. But we weren't sure if it was contagious or not to humans. It doesn't seem to be so with the general population. But it is to those of you that share our DNA." He paused, "Our descendants."

John unexpectedly blushed. He wasn't sure why. "So we can have your children?"

"Yes. It's even more difficult than with our own people. But there were a few cases. That's what I have been looking for."

"You were afraid that Molly had been exposed? While she was with that Adler woman?"

Now Sherlock blushed. "Well yes. There seems to be a correlation between your people catching it because of shared intimacy. Knowing Irene's proclivities I assumed Molly was exposed, but it turned out Irene didn't get very far,"

John looked confused, "But…hey...whoa…we didn't…you and I…"

Sherlock looked at him levelly even though his colour high. "John, what I did to you was extremely intimate. In my species it is the first step toward bonding with your life partner."

If he hadn't already been lying down he would have sat down hard. "Oh." He said faintly.

Sherlock twiddled with the duvet cover. "If we were on my world we would be what you call married." He looked back up at John, his head held high as if daring him to challenge that provocative statement.

John smiled at him weakly. "Okay. That's a lot to take in." He lay back against the pillows. "So now what?"

"What do you mean?"

"With us. Is it…are we…do..shit," he muttered, scrubbing his face. _How the hell does one ask this?_

Sherlock bit his lip and looked down at the floor, "There really isn't anything to worry about." He got up abruptly, taking John's empty bowl with him. "You are under no obligation." He stopped at John's door and continued to look at the floor. He glanced up at John. "I am glad you are feeling better." And abruptly he was gone.

John slumped back and wondered what the hell had just happened.

oOo

A few days later saw John back on his feet. Although still weak, he felt better for having showered and he dressed himself in something other than pyjamas.

He knocked hesitantly on Sherlock's door. Sherlock had still continued to visit him the last few days but had seemed distant, as if he wasn't sure how to approach John anymore. John didn't know what to make of it. Although he was still a prisoner he was no longer treated with contempt and anger. He wasn't free to go, but he wasn't locked in his room either.

He heard a clear _**Come in**_ but it wasn't until after he cleared the doorframe that he realized it hadn't been vocal. The tentative strains of Sherlock's summoning him in his first few days as a captive had grown stronger and now he could hear Sherlock in his head as loudly as if he were standing right beside him. He cocked his head in surprise.

Sherlock looked up and a shy grin crossed his face. _**I can talk to you mind to mind if you wish.**_

"Ummm, sure, I guess, how, how did you do that? I mean I was sure I heard you in there once or twice before but…"

Sherlock's grin broadened a bit. "But you weren't sure if it was real." He said this out loud, statement not question.

"Yeah."

_**It is part of our abilities with our Attendants, to be able to call them. It becomes stronger when we are bonded.**_

There was that word again. It seemed to bring a halt to the conversation as a wrinkle formed over the bridge of Sherlock's nose. John had a sudden desire to rub it away and sooth him. He had to forcibly stop himself from crossing the floor.

Sherlock frowned and went back to doing whatever it was he was doing with the microscope.

John, not sure what to do now, sat on the sofa. Finding himself bored rather quickly he took to watching Sherlock. He still looked pale and the bruises under his eyes were darker as if he hadn't slept, but he was moving as fluidly as he usually did. He seemed to be changing slides fairly rapidly under the microscope. John found the movements and the expressions on Sherlock's face fascinated him.

He finally couldn't stop himself. "Whatever are you doing?"

As he glanced sideways at John, Sherlock said, "These are blood samples I took from you to check the virus in your system. I am comparing them to samples from the People."

"Shouldn't you be doing that in a laboratory or something in quarantined conditions? You could get sick."

"Don't be ridiculous John. Only my people and people like you can contract the virus. As we have both already had it and there are no others in this building with the same DNA tags as you except for Miss Hooper, there is no danger as long as she stays away from these samples."

"You had the virus?"

The other stared at him for a full minute. "All of my people have had it. You either survived or you didn't."

John felt his mouth dropping open just a little and then he closed it again. The more he learned about the war between the humans and The Shadows the more uncomfortable he felt.

_**Don't feel badly. You didn't know. **_

"That isn't the case now."

Green blue eyes regarded him. There was a faint glow of silver emanating from their depths. John felt a rush of something race through him and before he could identify it, it was gone. The glow seemed to melt away and John was just left feeling puzzled.

"So now what are you going to do?"

"I am going down to a proper lab in the basement of this building and see what I can do about coming up with a cure."

"If you all have had the virus and you all carry it, why do you need a cure?"

"The cure isn't for the virus. The cure is to change us back to what we were." He paused and looked as if he were trying to decide something. "I'd invite you down to come and watch but you are still recuperating. Perhaps in a few days." He stood up from the table and was out the door before John could respond. He pursed his lips and sighed. He was tired of staying in bed but Sherlock was correct. He didn't have all of his energy back yet. He wandered the room and stopped at the bookshelves looking for something to read.

He was just about to pull down a likely looking volume when the door to the room opened. He turned, saying "Well your back fast." when he realized it wasn't Sherlock.

Mycroft had entered the room.

John stood there awkwardly.

"Good Morning Dr. Watson. I trust you are feeling better."

"Yes, thanks," he said shortly. He didn't trust Mycroft, but then he hadn't really trusted Sherlock until a little while ago either so maybe he should cut him some slack.

"May I call you John? We are practically family now." A wintery smile placed itself upon Mycroft's mouth.

John said nothing.

"I see. Has my brother explained what happened to you before your unfortunate illness?"

John began to nod his head, but then stopped, because he felt there were things Sherlock had left out.

"Well he said some stuff," John felt himself blush. "About being bonded and what the mind thingy meant, but no not really."

Mycroft sat upon the sofa and gestured to one of the two chairs for John to sit. He did, warily.

"You do know that Sherlock hasn't fed since you became sick, do you not?"

John looked surprised. "But surely he must have. I was sick for weeks. He couldn't go that long." Strangely he felt himself begin to worry for the health of the other man. He found himself startling at the words he had just used in his head to describe Sherlock. He had never, not once, thought of Sherlock as a man. Always as the creature or a monster or the Shadow. What had changed?

Mycroft continued speaking, "We can go for a long time without your essence and indeed my brother chooses to do so upon occasion to test his limits, but it is not wise nor is it healthy. It is wearing him down. He has also not slept well since you were struck with the virus. He was terribly worried about you. I haven't seen him like that since…"

"Since what?"

"Since his first mate died of the fever.'' John seemed to be spending a lot of time closing his mouth.

"He, he had a mate? Who died?"

Mycroft looked at the tips of his shoes. "Yes," he drawled out the word. "He was with his mate for a very long time. Victor." He said the name matter of factly. "He almost didn't survive his death. He was driven nearly mad with grief and vowed to find a solution." Mycroft looked sharply at John. "He didn't share this with you? When you bonded?"

"No."

"Interesting."

"Is it?" he said, in a tone that implied he was tired of mind games.

"Yes. He also seems to have…mellowed. Of course a lot of that would have to do with the bonding."

He paused, "Tell me John, how do you feel about my brother? Have your feelings for him changed?"

John frowned. "I …I guess."

"And to us?"

John looked at him curiously and with a hint of asperity. "Come to the point will you?"

"When we bond the way you did, it's for life. One can out live one's partner but it is rare as in my brother's case. Of the People who survived the illness, those whose mates had died usually succumbed shortly after them. We lost many family units. It is a chemical thing as well as an emotional and physical joining. You become one almost on the cellular level. You become…synced. You will eventually know each others thoughts and you will know when the other is hurt or if they are desiring you," he paused and looked pointedly at John.

"Yeah but I'm not gay."

"It does not matter. Among my people there are no fetters regarding gender. Such an outdated concept. We believe you love whomever you are meant to love. You and Sherlock are obviously meant to love. The bonding wouldn't have worked otherwise. I have it on good authority that Miss Adler may have been trying a similar attempt with your friend. I can assure you it would not have worked."

John was left completely at sea. He wasn't sure what to do with his feelings. Some of it made sense and some of it was so far outside what he believed about himself as to be downright scary.

He thought back to earlier and of his strange reactions to Sherlock and he began to see a pattern.

Mycroft stood and straightened his suit jacket. "You really need to have a heart to heart with my brother. He will not press himself upon you, not now. You must make the first move." He walked toward the door but before he left he said, "And you really must let him feed soon."

"He hasn't asked."

"He won't nor will he go somewhere else as he would have done before the bonding. It has to be with you or no one else."

"What?"

"Yes, John. Have a pleasant day." And he swept out the door.

John was left alone with nothing to do but explore some new realities.

"Well fuck." He said to no one in particular.

oOo

It was two days after that meeting before John had the chance to broach the subject with Sherlock. The other man disappeared to the depths of the building as he worked on a cure for the Shadows. He found he missed his presence, almost like a physical ache. He couldn't concentrate and he jumped in anticipation whenever the door opened, but it would just be a servant bringing food or tidying the rooms.

When Sherlock finally returned, his heart leapt and he found he was flooded with the desire to push him against the wall and kiss him. It didn't even faze him. It seemed a part of who he was and natural. There was a small part at the back of his head that was bemused by this. The other part of his brain that wasn't thinking with his pants was appalled at how awful Sherlock looked. He was thinner, noticeably, and haggard. The shadows under his eyes were deeper and he looked gray, not his usual pale lustre.

"Good god, Sherlock, you look like shit!"

Sherlock threw him a glare and began pacing the room. It didn't seem possible for him to have the energy to do so but he almost thrived on the frenetic pace he was setting.

John touched his arm. "What is it?"

"It's not working. It should be working."

"What isn't?"

"The cure!" he shouted.

John stood there and stopped Sherlock from moving. He felt himself reach out tentatively with his thoughts.

_**Tell me what happened.**_

Sherlock stopped in surprise.

"I've been practicing," John muttered and flushed. That's all he did around Sherlock any more.

"Obviously," came the reply, but without his usual sarcastic edge to it.

John looked at him. "What is happening? What did you try?"

Sherlock broke eye contact with John reluctantly. "Everything!" he moaned running his hands through his hair. "I was able to synthesize a cure from the antibodies in your blood. It should have worked but when I applied it to myself there was no change. Nothing worked. It. Doesn't. Work!" And he picked up a stray glass and hurled it toward the wall where it shattered. "We are doomed to be these horrible creatures. Left to prey on other people, other races. It isn't right." He threw himself down on the chair and placed his head in his hands and began tugging his hair, as he rocked a little. "I can't think any more."

John felt his heart tear a little to see him so distressed.

He knelt down in front of the other man.

"Sherlock. Sherlock look at me. Please."

Sherlock lifted his head and stared at him. John felt he wasn't really looking at him; he was trapped in his own thoughts.

"Sherlock you need to feed. Please? You can't go on like this. Maybe it will help you think. Please? I…I am offering." He finished in a rush before he could change his mind.

Sherlock finally saw John. A look of wonder and perhaps almost fear mixed with reverence crossed his face. "You are offering?" he whispered.

John smiled, shyly, "Yes, you idiot."

Sherlock shook his head. "No."

"What do you mean no? You can't say no to me," he said gently. "We are bonded."

"But it isn't your way and it isn't what you want."

"Sometimes what you want isn't given to you. Sometimes what you deserve is. Or perhaps it would be better to say what you need."

He looked at the floor then back up at Sherlock. "I won't deny I'm not afraid, but this is what was supposed to happen no matter how it came about. And I feel this is the first step toward forgiveness. For both of us."

He looked deeply into Sherlock's eyes. "Please? For me? You'll be saving me too."

Sherlock leaned forward and touched John's face, stroking lightly.

"When we feed from an Attendant there is no sex. You feel desire, if we chose, to give you a sense of intimacy and to make it easier. We force you to feel fear, as a punishment. It would not be polite to take it further. Wrong I guess. A fetish. It is not so when we are bonded. When we join with a bonded partner there always is physical intimacy. It is necessary for our survival. It is part of who we were and it carries through to who we are now. The Attendant system came about because of what the virus did to us. We chose to not involve those we fed upon with the physical, except for ones like Irene who enjoy the thrill of the forbidden." He continued to look at John, using words to build the bridge between them to help him to understand. "But the bonding, that is as old as time. It is necessary. I can't be complete without it. I…" he looked ashamed. "I can't feed from any other, Attendant or not, now that we have bonded. This will be the final step. You can't say no to me once we have done this. You will be forever changed. Do you understand?"

John, who had a core of strength running through him as deep as a mountain, nodded "Yeah, I figured some of that."

Sherlock took in the man kneeling before him, saw him to his foundation, felt his commitment and his understanding reach the edge of his mind and then he groaned, grabbed John and drew him close. He simply hugged him at first, arms wrapped tightly around him, his forehead against his as he rocked back. And then reaching up more gently than he had in the past, pulled John's mouth towards his own. John felt his heart beating irregularly and he felt a surge of desire race through him before their lips had even brushed. He met Sherlock half way, and they joined in a kiss. Just a kiss. A soft brushing of lips and a slow electrical build to a tentative exploration. Before John had been thrust into a round of fear or desire and hadn't been able to discover what kissing another man was like. It was and wasn't different from kissing a woman. It was stronger in some ways, firmer and there was a small amount of jostling for dominance. Before he could wonder much more Sherlock opened his mouth to him and John, without thinking, let his tongue brush the inside of his mouth tentatively, slowly and then with more passion. As their mouths joined a deep welling came from his heart. He was filled with an intense, almost physical feeling of safety, joy and rapture. He felt like he had come home.

Sherlock ran his hands up to John's head and through the short soft hairs there. John copied the movements and was surprised at how silky Sherlock's hair felt. He wrapped his fingers in the curls and leaned in closer, he wanted to be in contact with Sherlock's body, he needed to be in contact. He felt his stomach and chest brush against Sherlock's, he felt his need and desire, but it didn't make him nervous or uncomfortable. It had the opposite effect. He felt a surge of lust enter his bloodstream. He heard a wicked chuckle in his mind and knew that some of the desire he felt was Sherlock's. He grinned into the kiss and with a moan wrapped his own arms around Sherlock and tried to will their bodies together, absorb him. A voice whispered in his mind. _**It would be a lot more satisfying if we removed our clothing.**_ John broke away and his grin turned lopsided. "Yes it would. What a marvellous idea." And he reached up and began to undo the buttons on Sherlock's white shirt with shaky hands. Sherlock moved his hands down and out of John's way and began on the belt on John's trousers. John's stomach lurched with butterflies as a hand hesitantly stroked the hardening bulge.

He looked up into eyes that were beginning to turn silver and he nodded. Sherlock swiftly opened John's trousers and reached in and his long fingers wrapped around John's thickening cock. John leaned his head into Sherlock's shoulder and panted slightly. He whined faintly as Sherlock brought it out and began to caress him leisurely, a slow pace at first that began to grow into delicious thrusting. He reached up with his free hand and lifted John's head up from off of his shoulder and pulled him back in for a kiss but it wasn't like the first kiss, all soft and gentle and quiet. It was full of need. There was heavy breathing and noises of want and desire. There was more fumbling with clothes and John was taken apart and naked before he was even aware. He was wrapped in and through and around Sherlock's thoughts and Sherlock his. They felt each other's presence fully inside their minds, a gift of tenderness and completion, they explored and captured every bit of themselves and shared it with their other half. As they deepened the kisses there was almost an electric hum in the air and John could feel the slow drain of energy from himself to Sherlock, but it wasn't exhausting as it had been the times before. He seemed to have a bottomless reserve to offer and it was taken wantonly.

Sherlock held John close, skin to skin, heart to heart and asked him if it was all right and John, fear at what could happen, and the promise of pain, but the thrill of discovery and the knowledge that it was part of what they must do, smiled and ran his hand down Sherlock's long neck and across his chest. He sighed and waited. A finger, an odd but shivery feeling, a slight tug and stretch. It wasn't as bad as he had anticipated. He felt a caress in his head and the finger went slightly deeper, easy probing. A touch on a tender spot, a bundle when brushed made John gasp. A second finger, the lube Sherlock had produced from somewhere, helping to ease in the addition of the finger. Lips wrapped themselves around his aching cock, tongue swirling, teasing, caressing, the other hand wrapped around his base, continued slow, steady, firm strokes in time with the thrust of fingers. The pleasant and overwhelming sensations in his mind and the attentions to his body helped with the third finger, stretching, opening him, opening his mind and a feeling of pleasant pressure beginning to crest inside.

John gasped out loud and in his head. "Sherlock!" _**Please!**_

"Yes John." _**Yes beloved**_**. **

As Sherlock began the slow, sweet slide into John, tense at first, whispers in his head helping him to relax, and then Sherlock lowered his mouth to John's and he flooded them both with the desire that bloomed between. He took from John and he gave back and the taller man could feel the connections solidifying. He felt new strength surge through him and ecstasy and bliss. He hadn't felt like this for so long. He thrust into John, called his name out loud and mind-to-mind, something that was hard and frozen broke inside and melted the pain and sorrow and anger that had been so much a part of him since Victor's death. He came violently into John and John cried out Sherlock's name and followed close behind.

Quivering with elation and exhaustion, Sherlock lowered himself upon John, tangled their legs and hands and fingers together and touched his beloved, panting for breath, he felt complete and whole and healed.

They fell asleep where they were, dozing lightly, wrapped together like the new born thing they were.

The light was beginning to fade outside when John came back around to the present. He was sore and tender but a feeling of deep satisfaction and peace filled him, he stroked Sherlock's back and kissed the parts of his neck and shoulders he could reach. He nuzzled near his ear.

"We need to get up off of the floor. I'm getting cold and it's uncomfortable. And it's not great for my shoulder being here."

Sherlock stirred and lifted his head. He smiled down at John and John's sweet smile back tugged at his heart. His breathing skittered a bit and a feeling of love and tenderness filled his chest. He felt something wet slide down his cheek and he lifted his hand up to brush it off. He sat up abruptly when he realized what it was.

"A tear," he breathed, a look of disbelief upon his face as if he were looking at a newly discovered star living at the bottom of the ocean.

John looked at Sherlock with concern. "Oh hey, it's okay. We just went through a nuclear emotional meltdown. A few tears are good." And he reached up and wiped another as it fell from the other eye. He took Sherlock's hand in his and brought it to his lips and kissed it.

Sherlock looked at John dumbfounded and shook his head. "You don't understand." _**We can't cry anymore.**_

The light continued to disappear outside but the room stayed bright despite the fact the lamps weren't on.

John squinted at Sherlock who seemed to be cast in luminosity from somewhere.

His eyes widened as he realized what he was seeing.

"Sherlock," he said, incredulity and awe filled his voice. "You're glowing."


End file.
